


The Shadow War

by Deathofme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Cat and Mouse Games, Cold War, F/M, Gen, SSHG - Freeform, Spy versus Spy, The Order Lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathofme/pseuds/Deathofme
Summary: What if Harry wasn't the Boy Who Lived? What if the Order lost? Hermione Granger is plucked from her ordinary life and thrust into a guerilla war, forced to grow up quickly and be groomed into Dumbledore's secret weapon. Severus Snape is brutally fashioned into becoming the Dark Lord's most treasured spy. This war will be won or lost in the shadows by two agents who match each other step by counter-step, and neither see failure as an option.[AU. A re-imagining of Canon]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SSHG Giftfest 2015.

**PROLOGUE**

***

            When Alastor Moody stepped through the threshold of 12 Grimmauld Place the night sky behind him flashed with a bolt of lightning that seemed to split the stars. There was no rainfall, it was almost as if those raw crackles of electric power were the residue of some terrible magic that had taken place.

            “The Longbottoms are dead.”

            His announcement fell on stricken faces. None of the Order members gathered could bring themselves to speak.

            Finally, with tired eyes that already knew the answer, Albus asked, “And the boy?”

            Moody did not speak. His expression was enough.

            They had lost.

            Albus rose to his feet, his arm swirling as he summoned Fawkes to his side. They had precious moments to spare when they could still act, and perhaps put some key motions into place that would not spell their doom completely.

            “Alert Hogwarts,” he addressed his familiar, “everyone must evacuate now. The Dark lord is coming. Hagrid must ensure Sybill Trelawney leaves as well. And one last thing of great import: collect the school registry of all those who would have been accepted to Hogwarts when of age.”

            Fawkes flew away, soaring into the stormy night sky to complete his given tasks. Sirius looked at him, puzzled. “Why do you need that piece of paper, Albus?”

            “Despite what Voldemort may think, there will be young witches and wizards coming into their power despite their parentage. They cannot be abandoned.”

            Sirius snorted in disbelief. “And you want to, what? Pick up teaching again? When all of us now have death sentences on our heads? We will be hunted more mercilessly now than ever. None of us will be able to show our faces in the wizarding world-“

            Albus’ voice was soft, but there was a steel spine in his words that cut off Sirius’ frustrated venting. “I will not deny any child an education, especially now that they are so vulnerable.”

            Molly Weasley had a dark look on her face as she started to tidy up their tea things. Keeping her hands busy was one of the habits she used to keep collected, and she was an intuitive woman that perceived far more than the other combat-skilled members of the Order. And she disapproved.

            “And you will teach them. And they will become the greatest weapons you can wield against him.”

            Albus countered gently, “They are our natural allies. All of our lives depend on us uniting together against him.”

            Molly’s eyes were sharp, she was defeated to concede his point but she would not pretend she liked it. “But they will suffer the most.”

            Perhaps to break the tension building in the room, and because the question was burning on her lips, Lily Potter looked to Albus beseechingly. “Who was it? Who found out about the prophecy and told him?”

            Sirius let out a much louder noise of contempt and hurled his next words to her. “Who do you think, Lily? And you’ve defended him all this time.”

            Lily ignored Sirius, she wouldn’t believe it until she heard it from Albus, but he was doomed to disappoint her as well. Her face fell, crushed by a betrayal she had been trying to deny for so long, when he finally confirmed her darkest fears.

            “It was Severus.”

***

            “Come to my side, Severus, so I may see you.”

            Snape bowed low to the ground, approaching Voldemort with reverence. Cloaked in his black robes he was a shadow splitting away from a crowd of darkness to be singled out by a cold and terrible light.

            “The prophecy has been broken. You have served me well.”

            Snape muttered his gratitude in humble tones, as was expected of him, though in his mind he was allowing himself a private moment. He knew appreciation from the Dark lord did not come without its reservations or trials. And just now, in this brief second, he allowed himself one thought before closing his mind into an impenetrable fortress in anticipation of what was to come next.

            _Lily, you are safe…_

            Voldemort lifted his wand and hissed, “ _Legilimens!_ ” before plunging into Snape’s mind, to ensure the loyalty of his trusted servant was faultless. And what he saw left him satisfied.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART ONE** \- _An Education_

 

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

***

            Hermione Granger was walking home from school, feeling quite proud of herself that she had finally convinced her parents she could do this alone and she reveled in her independence. She had a test with full marks tucked away in her knapsack that she was looking forward to presenting them with.

            Their arguments were silly anyway. She was going to turn fourteen soon, for goodness’ sake, children years younger than her were allowed to take the bus or walk home without supervision. She suspected she was given more scrutiny because she was their only daughter, and she had tried to be understanding, but this school year she finally put her foot down. She never dallied home, she did her homework and chores without prompting; surely she had proven herself responsible for this small freedom.

            It was true that there were some funny incidents occurring across the country that gave them reason to be spooked. Every now and again they saw reports on the news of peoples’ homes broken into, or children going missing (sometimes _whole families_ ), but Hermione was levelheaded and chalked it up to fear mongering. Bad things happened every day. But they lived in a nice, quiet neighbourhood where nothing out of the ordinary happened. And both her parents were dentists! How much more normal could one be?

            It was with these self-satisfied thoughts that Hermione crossed the street and caught something out of the corner of her eye that was definitively _not_ normal.

            She saw a large man with blonde hair collected into a ponytail, dragging the arm of a young woman behind him. At first, Hermione hastily looked away, thinking she was witnessing a private argument between a couple, but her natural curiosity made her sneak another glance to notice that he had a long, wooden stick pointed to the underside of the woman’s throat.

            He was whispering viciously to her, and Hermione decided even if it was a private argument, it was an abusive one. He was intimidating in build, and with a brutish face. The woman was pleading with him quietly, tears streaming down her face, and Hermione could faintly make out the word ‘Yaxley’, though she did not know what it meant.

            “Excuse me! Unhand her this moment, sir!”

            He looked around, astonished to be noticed, before his eyes settled on her. There was irritation and then a murderous intent in his eyes. Hermione suddenly remembered she was a young girl and this was a big brute of a man, and she had done something awfully stupid.

            She tried to sound brave, but her voice faltered. “I’m going to notify the police!”

            The large blonde man shook aside the crying woman, who was now tugging on his arm trying to stop him from leaving, and he stalked towards Hermione. He raised the wooden stick in his hand and his lips began to form a word. It was a very odd sight, perhaps even comical out of context, but something deep in Hermione’s gut told her she was staring her imminent death in the face.

            “ _Crucio!_ ”

            A red jet of light suddenly exploded from the tip of his stick and Hermione fell to her knees, a scream trying to wrench its way from her lips, but her throat was locked up tight.

            And just as suddenly, the air around her seemed to ripple in a golden shimmer. The red light burst into a shower of sparks and Hermione felt an intense _crackling_ in the air that made all her bushy hair stand on end. The blonde man looked perplexed and then was suddenly bowled arse over tea-kettle as the current of red energy bounced back and knocked him off his feet. He flew through the air and then landed on the ground in a meaty _thump!_ He was knocked out cold.

            Hermione gaped. She did not know what to think. What had just happened? The young woman from across the street was looking at her in wonder and fear. Hermione reached out her hand, as if to try and silently ask the woman, ‘ _what is happening to me?_ ’ but the woman held up an arm, spun on her heel in the spot and suddenly disappeared with a ‘pop!’

            Hermione knelt there on the ground for a moment stunned, until she managed to regain her composure and then ran the rest of the way home. When her mother brightly asked her how school was that day she unashamedly burst into tears and declared she didn’t want to walk back home alone again.

***

            Albus’ eyes shone with a cold light that was at once full of pride, but also terrible to behold. One name stood out on the Hogwarts enrolment registry, the ink practically glowing off the page.

            There were murmurs all around him.

            “She’s only thirteen years of age…”

            “Merlin, she’s as old as Harry…”

            “How could we have not noticed until now?”

            “…perhaps her magic was latent until this moment…”

            “ _Yaxley_. To take on a _full grown_ Death Eater-“

            “…Granger…I’ve never heard that family name…”

            Albus interrupted them quietly. “That is because Miss Hermione Granger is Muggleborn. And she is in terrible danger.”

            Moody grunted in agreement, tapping his wand against his wooden leg in a distracted tattoo. “She needs to be fetched. Tonight. Voldemort isn’t going to take this insult lying down. We might already be too late. He’ll skin her for the audacity to-”

            “ _Alastor_ ,” Molly snapped, clapping her hands over Bill Weasley’s ears even as her son patiently repeated himself for the umpteenth time that he was well over the age of majority and had been an Order member for years now.

            “Alastor is correct, we have very little time to act. I will personally oversee this matter, and for now - please give us your report, Remus.”

            The meeting adjourned briefly after and as everyone filtered out to make their way back to their assignments or respective safe houses, Albus caught Lily Potter’s eye and went to a separate room.

            She followed soon after, a knowing look on her face. She was a very clever witch.

            “I think you know what I must ask you.”

            Lily knew. “You want me to fetch the Granger girl.”

            Albus nodded.

            Lily’s lips pursed into a frown. “I haven’t been in a proper duel in a few years. There are some defter hands at a wand than me-“

            Albus held up a hand, “Do not undersell yourself, Lily.”

            “ _And_ , though it may be selfish of me to say, all my concern is with making sure my own son is safe.”

            Lily had crossed her arms against her chest, her chin tilted up in a proud glare. Albus matched her gaze and then his eyes crinkled into a small smile. She looked every inch the proud lioness, a true embodiment of Gryffindor house. Her stern look faltered for a moment when she saw his amused pride, and she softened.

            “Why are you asking me and not Sirius or Kingsley? I know there must be a reason.”

            Albus nodded in agreement. “You have the very best chance of completing this mission successfully, and _safely_.”

            Lily tilted her head, puzzled, until his vague statements began to coalesce into some form of sense. The frown and smile alike dropped from her face. Her voice grew quiet. “He’s going to send Severus to kill her.”

            “That is my guess. And Sirius may be a more experienced duelist, but he has a tendency to let his personal hatred cloud his judgment. He is reckless when he fights with anger.”

            Lily looked away from him, unable to look into his piercing blue eyes as she struggled privately with her own grief. Her crossed arms were now no longer a defiant stance, but a shield to protect herself.

            “He won’t stay his hand because of me. Not after all this time.”

            From the timbre of her voice, Albus knew she had already resigned herself to go. He grasped her shoulder to bid her luck and left with the parting words, “He will. He always has.”

***

            Hermione’s eyes flew open in the middle of the night. She was confused at first, looking around her dark room to see she was at home, safely tucked away in bed. She had been having nightmares of red explosions of sparks, golden light enveloping her hands, screaming…

            She sighed and punched her pillow before flopping onto it gracelessly again. She just wanted a good night’s rest and to forget about the whole thing. She had class tomorrow and she didn’t want to be yawning through it.

            She turned over so she was facing her window, moonlight streaming onto her face. She rubbed her arms, suddenly pricked with goose pimples. All her hair was standing on end and she tasted something sour in her mouth. It was just dawning on her that this adrenaline rush felt quite similar to the crackling of atmosphere she had experienced earlier that day when a large shadow loomed over her.

            “Just a little slip of a girl to so vex the Dark Lord…”

            A low voice with a deep timbre and soft, silky tones slithered across the room and she felt a chill run through her. As if caught in a sea of molasses, her reluctant limbs struggled to move with any urgency as she turned over to see a tall figure in swirling black robes standing over her bed. Another one of those slender, wooden sticks was pointed at her as a pale hand reached up underneath a voluminous hood and pulled down a silver mask to reveal a sallow face with a large, hooked nose. Eyes so black that they still stood out in the gloom.

            Her mouth fell open in horror. A pale finger was brought up to his thin lips. “Don’t scream.”

            Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. In a cracked whisper she said, “Please…please don’t hurt my parents…”

            “I’m not here for your parents, girl. Not tonight.”

            A hand clenched around her arm in a vice grip and with surprising strength he pulled her from the bed. Hermione stumbled after him, as he swept through the hallway of her house, eerily silent and dark. Tears sprang to her eyes as she silently prayed over and over in her mind that her parents were all right.

            Swiftly, they descended down the staircase and then out the front door. Her fight instinct took over, and Hermione began to struggle viciously in his grip. She opened her mouth to scream loudly enough to wake the whole neighbourhood when he pointed the stick in her face again and in a low voice intoned, “I do not need this to silence you, but the other option is much crueler.”

            “Where are you taking me?”

            He let out an irritated huff through his nose as he pulled her into the street. “So full of questions.”

            His arm with the stick swept back in a gesture and he hissed, “ _Morsmordre_ ”. A stream of green light shot out from the end and into the sky above her house, settling into the shape of a ghostly skull with a snake slithering out of its jaws. The image was so awful it made Hermione’s eyes water.

            He held up the stick, tightened his grip on her arm and began to spin on one heel when they both heard, “ _Stupefy!_ ” and a stream of red light shot towards them.

            Hermione was thrown to one side and she saw his arm instinctively raise up, the red light bouncing off an invisible shield. She looked desperately to where the sound had come from to see another figure in the streets, similarly cloaked in hooded black robes, another stick pointed at him.

            What happened next was a flurry of motion that happened so quickly it was difficult to follow. Different coloured lights shot out from the two figures who parried, struck and danced with a savage ferocity. She knew they were fighting for their lives, but for such a violent display, it was surprisingly quiet. Now and again they would call out strange words, which caused another eruption from their sticks, but most of the attacks were silent. It was almost as if they were fighting with swords, except these batons never made contact.

            A strange thought occurred to her. _Their sticks…they’re like magic wands_ …

            He had a look of fierce joy on his face, caught up in the thrill of the fight. He was making complicated motions with hand and then slashing the air repeatedly causing the other figure stumbling back. He let out a taunt, “Is this the best Albus can send me?”

            The other figure snarled back, “Enough to keep you on your toes, Severus.”

            His brow furrowed momentarily, an odd look on his face. He suddenly had to evade and block with more urgency as the other figure gained ground. Deciding he was done playing games he whipped out his arm and spat out an ugly word. “ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

            The other figure managed to dodge the brunt of the attack in time, but the powerful wave of energy hit its side, tearing open its hood to reveal the pale, furious face of a woman. Her hair cascaded behind her, buffeted by the wind, a few red strands severed by the blast of light falling onto the ground.

            He looked pole-axed. “Lily…”

            The woman, Lily, then suddenly turned to Hermione with a shouted, “Here!” and before Hermione knew her body was obeying, she was running to the woman’s outstretched arm. She saw another flash of light in her periphery before their hands touched, the world was spinning away and her insides suddenly felt as if they were being sucked tightly in together in a most nauseating way.

            Just as suddenly they appeared on the stone doorstep of a house and Hermione collapsed to the ground, heaving.


	3. Chapter 3

            “You’ve been very brave, my dear. I must ask you to be brave for just a little while longer.”

            Hermione held her head in her hands, her thoughts swirling and the world feeling as if it had flipped upside down. Witches? Wizards? A decades long guerilla war? _Magic?_

            “Lemon sherbert?” Albus politely offered, un-sticking two pieces and handing one to her. Hermione took it in nerveless hands, more out of lack of what to do.

            “Please, Mister Dumbledore-“

            “You may call me Albus, if you wish.”

            She stammered a little. “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but…everything you’ve spoken about. Well, it’s _mad_. Utterly barking mad! I’m not a witch, I can’t explain what I saw tonight but I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for-“

            He reached into the inner sleeve of his robes and brought out a slim wooden baton of his own. His _magic wand_. Hermione’s words were cut off as she looked at it with a mix of skepticism and wonder. He held it out to her, gesturing for her to take it.

            “You have a mind that thirsts for knowledge and reason. I think I would rather enjoy engaging in endless debates with you on magical theory, but perhaps this will satisfy your questions for now.”

            “How do you mean, sir?” Hermione took his wand in her hand, and her eyes widened.

            It felt _warm._ A tingling was spreading from her fingers all up the length of her arm. She couldn’t explain it, but she understood there was great power in this unassuming stick. Nervous, she held it up to the light, and then let out an experimental ‘swish’. A small stream of gold sparks shot out from the end.

            “Oh…”

            He took his wand back, an understanding look on his face. “You are overwhelmed, that is a natural feeling, and I am inclined to let you leave now for some rest.”

            She fidgeted in her chair, her most urgent wonderings finally bursting forth. “Are my parents safe? When can I see them?”

            His brow furrowed and his voice was gentle, but Hermione could already tell it was bad news. “You parents are safe. Order members went to secure them right after you left. However, they cannot remain in their home, as they have now become targets of the Dark lord. They have been relocated to Australia.”

            “ _Australia?_ Did they ask for me? They must be so worried-“

            “They have had their memories altered. They do not remember anything that would further endanger them.”

            It broke Albus’ heart to be the bearer of such news. He saw the confusion on the young girl’s face, and she was so very young. All of them were. This senseless war and its oppressive regime had ripped families apart, or decimated them completely. The justification that he had saved her life did not ease the guilt that he had been forced to do the same.

            Her confusion morphed into a sick realization. She was very fast on the uptake. Her voice sounded hollow. “They don’t remember _me_ , you mean.”

            “I am afraid you are correct, Miss Granger.”

            She looked on the verge of crying, but then Albus saw something extraordinary. She fought back her tears, and a hard, _determined_ , look settled on her face. “But if you hadn’t have done that, this Dark lord would have killed them?”

            He nodded gravely. “That is indeed so.”

            She squared her shoulders, her chin setting into a stubborn grimace. “Then it was for the best.”

            “I would feel damned for saying either way.”

            He could see how well she was holding herself together, but that she was near ready to crack. It was expected and he admired her for putting on a brave face for as long as she did, so he promised her more answers in the morning and bade her good night. She walked out of the room, still in a daze.

            He watched her leave, torn apart by grief to see another young person’s childhood ripped from them so cruelly, but with a small fierce hope burning in his chest.

 

***

 

            “Oh, it’s all right, dear. It’s all right…”

            Lily could tell instantly that the tears were about to bubble over in Hermione and swept the girl up into her arms. The warm maternal touch, even if not from her own mother, finally undid the pent up feelings inside of her and she sobbed noisily into Lily’s embrace.

            Her breaths and words came out in stuttered gasps, “My…my parents…my _dad_ …I hate him - _I hate him_!”

            “I know, I know, shhh…” Lily made other soothing noises, knowing it wasn’t important what she said, just that someone was there to listen to all of Hermione’s broken, wheezing lament.

            When the girl had finally calmed down, she scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and took Lily’s offered handkerchief with an embarrassed smile of thanks. She blew her nose and looked so frail, but Lily could already see the hard lines beginning to form around the girl’s eyes. If she ever saw the same bitterness and tragedy on Harry’s face, it would break her heart.

            “How can someone be so cruel? And evil?”

            Lily took the damp handkerchief from her and smoothed back some of Hermione’s hair. “It is unfortunately something that can warp any of us.”

            Hermione looked at her with keen eyes. “You sound more sad than angry.”

            “I am angry, Hermione, more than I feel right to show at this moment. But, yes, I do pity him.”

            Hermione’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “You know that man?”

            Lily’s mouth set in a grim line. “He is the reason I lost my best friend. But I pity him, because I know somewhere right now, he is suffering greatly.”

 

***

 

            “You let a _mudblood girl_ best you? And to think you used to walk with such airs of arrogance - _crucio!_ ”

            Severus writhed on the floor in agony, barely registering the glee of the other Death Eaters to see the Dark lord’s favoured agent being humbled in such a manner. Yaxley, in particular, having suffered the same humiliation, was positively cock-a-hoop in his vindication.

            “And just _who_ was it that prevented you from enacting my orders? Did that old fool arrive himself? Did you fail against your old school master?”

            Though every nerve in his body was screaming in a symphony of pain, his muscles twitching beyond his control, Severus furiously locked down every part of his mind that would betray the woman he had dueled with that night.

            “ _Legilimens!_ ”

            Severus’ memories flew fast, broken, hazy into Voldemort’s mind. There were just flashes of the house, the girl, the duel, the hooded figure. Later, Severus would find a reason to be thankful that the Dark lord had begun torturing him before his interrogation. The disjointed, fractured memories could be attributed to the mind being disoriented from incredible pain. It could have been the only reason Voldemort spared his life.

            But not after hours of taking out his ire and wrath on Severus’ spasming, retching body.

 

***

 

            “Hey, I’m Harry.”

            Hermione looked curiously at the boy with messy, dark hair and a polite smile on his face, his hand stuck out in greeting. She shook it cautiously and responded with a non-committal, “Hullo”.

            They were at ‘The Burrow’, another safe house the Order frequently used. She, Harry and what seemed like a whole clan of red-haired children were sitting on the grass inside a large tent that had been erected in the gardens. She could tell instantly they must all be the children of Mrs. Weasley, who upon seeing Hermione fell into paroxysms of declaring how skinny she was and must be fed properly. The Weasley boys were rough-housing and teasing their youngest brother Ron, who was dirty and now even red in the face from yelling at them to ‘cut it out!’ and really it was all rather nice. It seemed like a private, pocket universe where the waging war outside was forgotten.

            Except that Hermione had to continue to smother the irrational feelings of jealousy she had as she watched them all, Harry included, and thought darkly to herself how they still had their parents.

            A very stern-looking witch strode into the tent and with a steely gaze the play-fight immediately broke up. She was dressed in tartan robes and surveyed the scene with a dissatisfactory look. In a clipped Scottish accent she said, “This will not do,” and with a flick of her wand she transformed a rock on the ground into a large table.

            Hermione’s eyes nearly popped out of her head to witness such casual magic. A few more swishes of her wand and the strict witch had conjured up enough chairs for everyone.

            One of the red-haired twins piped up, “Blimey, Ms. McGonagall, that was pretty cool!”

            “In here it is _Professor_ McGonagall, Mr. Weasley.”

            He gave her a cheeky wink. “That’s having it too easy, Professor, you can all just call us ‘Mr. Weasley’ so you don’t need to figure out if I’m Fred or George.”

            She gave him an imperious look. “Perhaps I should transfigure one of you a monkey’s tail then, so I’ll be able to tell the both of you apart.”

            Apart from being cowed by the threat, the two Weasley twins looked at each other enthusiastically as if they wished for nothing else in the world. Professor McGonagall’s lips drew into a thin line as if she were doing her utmost not to roll her eyes.

            Hermione now finally started to feel at ease, and she quickly sat down in one of the chairs next to Harry and Ron. This witch was a _teacher_ , and they were all in a _classroom_. Finally, this was something about the magical world that was like her own, something familiar and normal that she could understand.

            Of course, _what_ they would be studying was still completely foreign to her. Magic, spells, charms and the like, but Lily had given her a set of textbooks to help prime her and so as not to be left behind, Hermione had been poring over them all night. She had also tried to perform every spell outlined in her books on her own, in the dark of the small room she had been given to share with Ginny Weasley. It had felt very, very silly at first, and horribly awkward, but Hermione couldn’t give up the chance of trying out her new wand for the first time.

            Albus Dumbledore had summoned a quirky, old wizard named Ollivander a few nights before, while she was still settling into the magical world. Ollivander had brought boxes upon boxes with him, pulling out different wands for her to try. He mumbled quite a bit as well and she hadn’t been too sure if he was speaking to her, to himself, or to the wands.

            “Nine inches, ash wood, a unicorn hair, very flexible wand, good for charms work - no? Here, try this - eleven inches, cherry wood, phoenix feather, a very versatile - no, that’s not it!”

            Hermione felt like she was barely touching the wands before they were being snatched out of her hand. Ollivander seemed to know immediately if it was the right fit or not. She looked helplessly at Dumbledore, who just gave her a warm, reassuring smile to let her know this was all quite normal. Ollivander began routing through all of his boxes now, still muttering.

            “Bit of a tricky one, aren’t you? Hard to place, but not to worry, I’ve always been able to match a young witch or wizard with the wand - _ah_. Here, young lady. Try this one.”

            He handed her another wand, which to Hermione’s eyes looked just like all the other ones, but patiently she took it into her hand and suddenly the world seemed to brighten.

            Ollivander had a self-satisfied smile on his face as he nodded. “Ten and three-quarter inches, vinewood, with the core of a dragon’s heartstring. A curious one that, made specially to channel quite a lot of power.”

            Hermione barely heard a word he was saying. The sensation she was feeling was similar to when Dumbledore had given her his wand to hold, except so much more powerful. Instead of a tingling, it felt like every nerve in her body was on fire and yelling jubilantly to the heavens. She felt a heat inside of her body, like flames fanning outwards, and most of all, something felt like it ‘ _clicked!_ ’ into place. It felt as though something had been out of joint in her body and the second she touched her wand the earth shifted and it locked together in place. She felt _right_. For the first time since she had been crying over being taken away from her parents, something felt like it had been made whole inside of her again.

            “Now, Miss Granger, you have some catching up to do. Why don’t we begin by seeing what exactly you can accomplish at this present moment?”

            Hermione snapped to attention, pushing her wool-gathering aside. She pulled her wand out of her robes a little nervously, looking at Professor McGonagall, and the other students around her. She was going to be tested alone, in front of everyone!

            Harry seemed to understand as he whispered to her, “It’s okay, we were all pants when we first started.”

            Professor McGonagall handed her a matchstick. “Would you please try to transfigure this into a needle?”

            Hermione took in a deep breath, but began to relax. They weren’t pushing her off into the deep end of the water, they were starting from the beginning. This was in the first textbook she had read and she had practiced this spell quite a bit. In a steady voice, Hermione spoke the incantation and made the correct wand movement, felt the familiar little thrill of magic being worked inside of her, and then presented a perfect needle to Professor McGonagall.

            If she were impressed, the stern witch made no indication, merely nodding in approval and then presenting her with another item and a request for Hermione to transfigure it.

            At first, only Harry seemed interested in what she was doing, Hermione suspected his mother had given him instructions to try and befriend the ‘new girl’. But by the time Hermione was transfiguring a teapot into a tortoise, even the Weasley boys had shut up and were staring at her agog. Hermione was so focused on each of her tasks that she didn’t notice the attention until Ron inadvertently squeaked, “I haven’t been able to do that yet”.

            Fred smirked, pointing an accusing but not unfriendly finger at her, “It’s a cheat. You’ve been a witch this whole time, were you home schooled?”

            Hermione was so perplexed by the question that she stammered, “N-No, I may have had a French tutor, but-“

            Thankfully, Professor McGonagall stepped in, cutting the peanut gallery short. “You have done some impressive work, Miss Granger, to the level of a Hogwarts third year student. However, your magic still requires some finesse that comes from practical experience. I do believe that we may continue on with lessons as planned and that you should be able to keep up.”

            Professor McGonagall tapped her wand to the shell of Hermione’s tortoise and it transformed back into a willow-patterned teapot. As Professor McGonagall began a new lecture on Animagus magic, Hermione quietly resolved to herself that she just needed to do more practicing on her own to continue to win the approval of this strict, but very admirable witch.

 

***

 

            “And how are Miss Granger’s studies progressing?”

            Minerva raised a slanted eyebrow above her teacup before setting it down. She was a reserved woman, but she couldn’t prevent the small look of awe on her face. “The girl is absolutely incredible, Albus. Her first day she was performing magic I would expect from an exceptional third-year student. Another week and she was taking on preparatory O.W.L. level material.”

            Albus quirked a small smile as he took advantage of the ginger newts Minerva preferred. “While I am not surprised to hear such, it makes me feel very proud. I am considering taking over some of her education myself, I believe she could benefit from some private tutelage.”

            Minerva, however, did not seem to share his feelings. “That’s all well and good for you to congratulate yourself, but Albus, she is still a young girl. Granger is driven to the point of obsession. She doesn’t socialize with the other children, she just locks herself up in her room and studies.”

            “She’s determined.”

            “She’s _grieving_. And she has no outlet for it except for her studies.” A helpless look passed across her face. “We should give her the chance to regain some form of normalcy, not push her further.”

            “Minerva, there is a war-“

            She snapped, speaking in the harshest tone she had ever taken with him. “ _Do not_ bang on about ‘there is a bloody war going on’ business with me!” Minerva was breathing quite heavily, a little embarrassed by her outburst, but not willing to back down now that she had gotten it off her chest. “Do you know what Molly said to me the other day? Merlin knows, that woman understands children, she told me ‘Hermione thinks if she studies hard enough, works hard enough, she will get her parents back’.”

            “Hermione is not the only child who has lost her family to this war,” Albus said in a calm, even tone, but that cold fire was back again in his eyes. It was not directed towards Minerva, but it was still unsettling to behold. “All of our children, magical and muggle, are all suffering. They all need to be prepared to fight for their very lives, and it is at the expense of all of their childhoods.”

            He closed his eyes, the blue flames extinguishing for a brief moment, and his voice carried the weight of the world. “Do not think for one second that burden ever leaves my mind or my heart.”

            Minerva stared at him, at a loss for words. It wasn’t often anyone ever saw the powerful wizard so exposed. She merely said, “As you will, Albus.”


	4. Chapter 4

            Severus Snape was in his private rooms, decompressing, and carefully massaging the muscles in his wand arm. It was a tiny flat above a shop in muggle London, a room he had procured when he realized he would need a bolt-hole no one but himself would be allowed to know about when he needed to recover. There was barely anything in it, just a couch, some emergency bottles of murtlap essence, dittany and other palliative cures he brewed. Though sparse the room was heavily warded against magic-users, muggles, and completely sound-proof.

            This was often where he apparated to after being punished by the Dark lord, where he could scream to his heart’s content, faint, vomit, and seize without showing weakness in front of the other Death Eaters.

            The last session had, fortunately, been an average one. If being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse for over an hour could be considered average. The last of the spasms had worked their way out of his system, and now he tended to his arm and fingers, to make sure he would not stiffen or seize up at an inopportune moment. Very few of the other Death Eaters were so careful with themselves, but Severus never wanted to be caught off guard, especially when the deadliest duels always struck when unexpected.

            He felt his left arm burn and he already knew, the Dark Mark branded on his forearm had darkened. He was being summoned. Severus flexed his fingers one last time, gathered his hood and mask, and took a moment to seal his thoughts away before apparating.

            “Do you think I was too cruel with you, Severus?”

            Voldemort was twirling his wand idly, in thought, as he stroked Nagini’s cool scales. He was in a measured, contemplative mood tonight. Severus had already trained his face into a calm, polite expression, knowing that even if the Dark lord’s tempers were like still water for the moment, it only took a small misstep for them to churn into a tempest.

            “No, my lord. I brought shame upon you and myself. You had no other course, but to make an example of my failing.”

            Voldemort turned his eyes to Severus, they were barely open and looked like yellow slits. “Slippery, slippery, Severus…you aren’t a sycophant.”

            It was not a question and Severus didn’t know how to respond, so he remained silent.

            Voldemort continued, “Do not think I don’t see that you hold yourself apart from those of my followers who bow at my feet and look upon me as a kind of deity. You are far too perceptive for such displays. So, the real question is, is your level of awareness useful or a concern?”

            Severus bowed low to the ground. As reasonable as the Dark lord was being for the moment, Severus still knew he was a proud wizard. He murmured to the ground, “It is all in your service, my lord.”

            Voldemort twirled his wand nonchalantly, but Severus knew he was pleased with the response. He rose to his feet, his robes billowing around him like smoke. “On your feet, Severus. I have a task that requires your competency, rather than fanatical devotion, tonight.”

            Severus fell in step behind him. “What does my lord require?”

            “Sirius Black is disrupting too many of our operations. We are setting up an ambush tonight.”

            Voldemort waved his wand in the air and a tactical map appeared floating in the air in front of them. Names of several Death Eaters were placed strategically around the locations. Severus scanned it quickly, then bowed his head slightly. Voldemort took that as indication that he had a suggestion, and nodded for him to speak.

            “I believe there is a solution that would minimize our casualties, incapacitate Black, and sew discord within the Order of the Phoenix, my lord.”

            Voldemort chuckled darkly in a sinister hiss. Severus knew he was treading a fine line between amusing the Dark lord, and overstepping his bounds. “Do reveal this most elegant solution to me, Severus.”

            Severus drew out his wand and with a flick, wiped the names of all the assigned Death Eaters off the map. He then drew in one name.

            “Send Wormtail. Alone.”

 

***

 

            “Hey!”

            Hermione was, as per usual, nose-deep in some books as she sat outside in the gardens. Mr. Dumbledore, she still could not bring herself to call him ‘Albus’ as he requested, had given her some books from his private collection to read. Most of them were fascinating, tomes on dark magic, theories on practical defense spells, but the volume puzzling her today was ‘The Tales of Beedle The Bard’. It contained children’s stories, not any that she recognized, and she was trying to figure out why he had given it to her. At first she thought it might have slipped into the pile by accident, but she quickly abandoned that thought. Dumbledore never did something by accident.

            “Hey! ‘Mione!”

            There was a curious symbol, a triangle with a circle and an intersecting line, drawn on the title page of the book. Someone must have drawn it in, as it did not look like part of the original printing of the book. What could it mean? Had Dumbledore inked in this mysterious cypher?

            “Are you brushing up on Babbity Rabbity’s hijinks?”

            Hermione finally looked up. Of all the strange new words and terms she had been hearing since joining the magical world, the strange mix of gibberish that came out of Ron Weasley’s mouth flummoxed her the most. “What?”

            He pointed to the book, flipping to some pages where there was an illustration of a rabbit and a pot. “Babbity Rabbity! My mum used to read me Beedle’s stories when I was younger.”

            “And I thought Humpty Dumpty was a silly name.”

            He gave her a perplexed look, then brushed it aside with a grin. He was holding two broomsticks and handed one to her. “We’re playing quidditch, come join us.”

            Hermione looked at the broom warily. “I’d like to keep both my feet on the ground, thank you.”

            “Come on, we need a Keeper.” He pulled her to her feet before she could protest.

            Harry, Ron, the twins and even little Ginny, were already mounting their brooms. James Potter (Harry really was the spitting image of him), Lily and Mundungus Fletcher were on broomstick as well. Hermione realized the teams were already even and they were just making up an excuse to get her to join them, and loudly protested that she had never flown before and didn’t like heights. With a warm smile, however, James had her share his broom and told her he would teach her and if she were afraid she’d fall she could hold onto his robes.

            Nervous, Hermione grabbed a fistful of the back of James Potter’s robes and suddenly they were zooming up into the sky! She shrieked in an undignified manner, her stomach swooping inside of her, cold air buffeting her already unruly hair into her face. James did some loops around the top of the Burrow, slowly, so she could get used to the sensation of flying. Everyone else joined them in the air, laughing and cheering her on.

            Molly Weasley was wiping her hands on her apron as she watched them begin to toss the quaffle around. She smiled, glancing at Alastor Moody who was sitting on a stump and smoking his pipe.

            “They’re getting a bit too high into the air,” she said.

            Moody’s magical eye swiveled in his head, rotating around. “There’s nothing around for miles. And Lily’s got enough sense for all of them, she’ll keep ‘em from getting spotted.”

            “Is that Mundungus on a broom? I thought it would be Sirius joining us tonight.”

            Moody sucked the end of his pipe in a quick succession of short puffs to keep his ash burning, hiding his grimace behind the idle task. “Albus asked him to stay at Grimmauld Place. For the foreseeable future.”

            Molly’s face darkened. “So it’s true.” Moody wouldn’t say anything more, and she decided not to press. It was a beautiful day, and for once everyone actually had the time to appreciate the sun and blue sky. “It is good to see them all laughing. Hermione too.”

            Moody spat a wad of tobacco gristle onto the grass, ignoring the alarmed look from Molly as it landed on her daisies. “Aye. Albus’ll be happy to know she’s learning to fly. Valuable skill to have.”

            He continued to smoke his pipe, oblivious to the disturbed look on Molly’s face that had nothing to do with her flower garden.

 

***

 

            “Now, Miss Granger, I would like you to clear your mind.”

            Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She sat cross-legged on the floor opposite Dumbledore, and she tried to mimic his relaxed behaviour. She was thrilled when he told her he wanted to tutor her privately; eager to know what new branches of magic she would be taught. He fetched her for their first lesson and apparated them to 12 Grimmauld Place, where he had his own dedicated office.

            “Is your mind clear? Good. Now, I would like you to smile.”

            “What?” She opened one of her eyes a crack to see he was not joking. Perplexed, she flashed him a smile.

            He smiled back, his voice still even and calming and smooth. “Wider…wider, very good! Now, once more.”

            She tried a few different smiles for him, even more confused as he seemed pleased, and then irritated as he made her go through more facial expressions. A frown, a gasp, a laugh, it went on and on.

            “Mr. Dumbledore, what kind of magic is this supposed to be?”

            “Miss Granger, a smile is part of a universal kind of magic not exclusive to witches and wizards.”

            He was barking. Positively barking, and possibly going senile.

            He seemed to understand what she was thinking, and he laughed aloud. “Perhaps a more practical lesson will interest you more?”

            He helped her to her feet, laid a gentle hand on her arm and before she could ask what they were going to do next, they apparated out of the room.

            Hermione fought down a wave of nausea and dizziness as they rematerialized in Trafalgar square. She looked around, confused, as Dumbledore tapped his robes and they transfigured into a deep purple three-piece suit and overcoat. Breathing in through her nose to calm her stomach, she managed to smirk. “You still stand out quite a bit, Mr. Dumbledore.”

            “The fashionable always do,” he quipped, taking her arm. “Now, Miss Granger, your task today is to escort us to the Royal Opera House.”

            “Sir?”

            He merely nodded, encouragingly, and politely waited for her to lead the way. Still unsure as to why this was her assignment, Hermione gamely led him to the nearest tube station. When they reached the ticket booth she realized she had no money, but Dumbledore pulled out the appropriate fare from his pockets. She wasn’t sure if he always had some pound notes on hand or if he had transfigured them.

            When they were seated on the train, Dumbledore was humming softly to himself, looking quite at home. She had a thousand questions burning on her lips, but the train was packed and she knew they would get stared at if she asked about magic or the wizarding world out loud. She thought for a moment on how to phrase her words so as not to give them away.

            “Why aren’t we going the _other_ way, sir?”

            She saw a flash of approval in his eyes, before he considered her question. “Sometimes it is beneficial to take the scenic route. In fact, it is quite useful to know _all_ routes to the same destination.”

            Hermione realized he was testing her and trying to teach her something from this. The old man loved speaking in riddles, and she sat back in her seat, turning over his words in her mind as she looked up at the station map. She looked at the differently coloured travel lines, how they intersected, looped, transferred, and because she had been taking the tube her whole life she could decipher the mess, but on the surface it looked like a very confusing puzzle.

            She chose her next words carefully, putting her thoughts together as she went. “Especially when _some people_ are so comfortable with going a certain way, that they would disregard all other means?”

            He nodded seriously, approving. “Indeed it is so, Miss Granger.”

            They got out at Covent Garden, and Hermione needed a moment to orient herself before she began to walk them towards the opera house. There were crowds of people going about their day-to-day business, some tourist groups, and many families. She watched them with a pang in her heart, taking in everything, but withdrawing into herself.

            Dumbledore’s voice was gentle. “May I ask what you are thinking, Miss Granger?”

            She was quiet for a moment before she could say, “Just of my parents, sir. They took me here a few times. At first I was too young to really appreciate the shows we went to, but I still always looked forward to it as they would buy me an ice cream from the shop near by. I wasn’t allowed sweets often.”

            “Please, take me to that shop, Miss Granger.”

            It was with heavy steps that she did. Being in such a familiar place was a forcible reminder of the happy evenings she had spent with parents, who now no longer remembered her. Her throat was closing in on her, a swell of tears burning deep within her chest as they stood outside the ice cream shop.

            “What was your favourite flavour to get from here?” He asked. Hermione looked up at him in surprise. Was there a point to this trip down memory lane? She could only feel how cruel it was, but Dumbledore had an expectant look on his face.

            “French vanilla...”

            “And did your parents have preferred flavours?”

            She blinked quickly a few times, fighting to keep herself under control. “My mother wouldn’t get any, she avoided sugar. They both did normally, dentists, you know… but as this was an occasional treat, my father would get salted toffee.”

            Dumbledore then pulled out some more money from his pocket and handed it to her. “Miss Granger, would you please go and buy us those two ice creams? And, most importantly, to conceal how you are feeling to the people working in the shop?”

            Hermione held onto the pound notes firmly, keeping her hand from trembling and she sucked in a few deep breaths before nodding, spinning on her heel and walking into the shop. It smelled just as she remembered, warm and sweet from the waffle cones they baked fresh on the premises.

            The old woman working the counter saw her and smiled. “What can I get for you, young miss?”

            Hermione took in the décor, the red gleaming countertops, the newspaper clippings of when the shop opened, and the funny hairnets all the workers wore. It was as if nothing had changed over the years she had been coming here. Only this time her father’s hand wasn’t resting on her shoulder, and he wasn’t joking that perhaps she would like to try some horrid flavour like bubblegum.

            Hermione smiled as brightly as she could, just as she had practiced in Dumbledore’s office. “A vanilla and a toffee, please.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

            “Bless ye, Molly, that smells right fine.” Hagrid dug into the small cauldron of beef stew with a ladle for a spoon, eating like a half-starved man. The Order members waited patiently for him to sate the urgent edge of his hunger before asking for his report.

            “Tha’ Umbridge woman’s been tearing down half th’ Forbidden Forest on her mad campaign. Dark times since she been made Headmistress. Unicorns are all gone. Centaurs left too, say they’re going somewhere they can see the stars uninterrupted.”

            “Will they lend us any assistance?” Arthur asked.

            “Naw. Ruddy stargazers still won’t interfere in human affairs. Werewolves are getting squeezed out too. Ye made any headway with ‘em, Remus?”

            Remus Lupin, his hair getting grayer by the day, scratched at the stray whiskers on his face and shook his head. “It’s been difficult to earn their trust, and unfortunately Fenrir Greyback has been meeting with Death Eaters. The pack doesn’t trust wizards, but he’s a very dominant alpha and they don’t dare speak out against him.”

            “Do you have to go back this full moon?” James asked, eyeing a wound that was scabbing over on Remus’ arm with concern. “Lily can make you up a batch of Wolfsbane, she’s a genius at potions.”

            Remus shook his head sadly. “It’s too critical a time for me to go missing and not join in a pack run right now.”

            James kept his peace, though he was worried and frustrated. Remus looked shabbier and greyer every time he came to an Order meeting, and it was like James was losing his friend an inch at a time. That’s what the entire war effort felt like, that they were all slowly dying a death of a thousand cuts.

            “What about the goblins?” He looked to Bill Weasley, who unfortunately could only shake his head too.

            “Our only saving grace there is they wouldn’t give a Death Eater the time of day either. They are completely neutral.”

            “This is getting us _nowhere_.” Sirius banged his fist on the table, startling everyone. He was easily frustrated these days and his outbursts were growing more frequent. James gave him a stern glance to warn him to calm down. He was the only one who could still give Sirius a real dressing down and get him to stop acting like a prat, but even that was getting more difficult as Sirius had been cooped up in the old Black Manor with nothing to do.

            Arthur eyed Sirius warily, but pressed on in a gamely fashion. “What of your contacts in the Auror department, Moody?”

            Alastor Moody took a deep drink from his goblet, wiping the back of his mouth with a coat sleeve. “Shacklebolt’s cover is still good. Says the Ministry’s got ‘em doing raids on homes under ‘suspicion of aiding in treason’, but after the fourth house they found that was mostly just scared families with their little children, well…most of the department’s getting pretty disgusted with the whole thing. Got a new recruit I’m sourcing right now, my old protégé before I had to go underground. Tonks, good girl. Metamorphmagus, could come in damn useful.”

            Moody then shrugged, before taking another long drink again. “Clumsier than a troll in tap shoes, though.”

            “At least she’s still able to walk around and do something with her wand other than sitting it with it jammed up her-“

            “ _Sirius_.” The look in Molly Weasley’s eye could have burned a hole right through the dining table. “We all know you’re bored and frustrated, but the alternative is the likelihood you’d be dead. So, for Merlin’s sake, _put a cork in it_.”

            He blinked, nonplussed and a wry smirk twisted on his lips that was half torn between annoyance, and being impressed despite himself. He put on a dismissive air, trying to appease the room and tend to his wounded pride privately. “Who would have guessed the Dark lord would have cared so much about one rat?”

            Albus, who had been watching the petty dramas swirl about him in relative peace and quiet, finally spoke. “You should not have killed Peter, Sirius.”

            Sirius’ eyes flashed with rage, but he was committed to remaining calm, so his voice remained even, despite the steel simmering beneath. “He betrayed all of us, Albus.”

            “He was your friend once-“

            “ _Was_. Once.”

            “-and it has not done you a service to have ended his life. Nor was it worth the cost to your soul.”

            James shared a quick look with Lily, they were both worried Sirius was going to explode. He looked at Dumbledore, angry yes, but there was an unexpected note of hurt and helplessness. “He blew up thirteen muggles before I could stop him. Living, he could have destroyed so many more lives. Is that the real reason I haven’t been given any missions of late? Because you don’t agree with the call I made?”

            “No, Sirius. I have not lost an iota of faith in your judgment.” Dumbledore then quirked an eyebrow upwards, and added in a curious tone, “But you are not subtle. And some tasks require discretion.”

            “So who else is there to pick up the slack?” Sirius asked, exasperated.

            Dumbledore merely tapped the side of his crooked nose, “Discretion, Sirius.”

 

***

 

            “Now, clear your mind, Miss Granger. _Legilimens_.”

            Hermione pictured a blank smooth surface in her mind, rather like a curved glass barrier around herself. She could feel someone on the other side of the barrier trying to find their way in, so she continued to focus on the smoothness, the impenetrableness, the absolute perfect curve with no cracks, no seams, no fractures…

            “Very good, Miss Granger. Now, please conjure up a specific memory for me.”

            Hermione could still feel the probing from the other side of her mental barrier. She began to think of an idle afternoon in her old maths class, sitting at her desk, copying down equations off the blackboard.

            “Now, Miss Granger, where were you this afternoon?”

            Hermione’s mind instantly wandered to the kitchen of the Burrow, where she had been reading more of the Tales of Beedle the Bard as Molly was preparing dinner for later that evening. She caught herself after a second, and forced her thoughts back to her maths class.

            “A very good attempt.”

            Despite the praise, Hermione’s lips twisted into a small frown. Even a split second, just a flash of an image, was enough to betray the truth. And she did not want to have made a ‘good attempt’, she wanted her performance to be perfect.

            Dumbledore chuckled softly. “Even without the use of Legilimency, it is plain to see your disappointment. You shouldn’t be. You are already a far more accomplished Occlumens than most witches or wizards three times your age. And learning to lie with your mind is another skill entirely.”

            “But _he’s_ a master of it, isn’t he, sir?”

            Dumbledore stroked his snowy white beard thoughtfully. “He is a savage Legilimens, but the Dark Lord’s specialties do not lean towards subtlety. I rather think he does not see Occlumency as useful to him, so he does not practice it.”

            “That isn’t who I meant, sir.”

            Albus looked into Hermione’s eyes, already sensing the mental barricade behind it. She was a quick study, almost frighteningly so. Still, it was a curious thing to see the powerful witch who had already learned how to defend her thoughts with advanced magic, but at the same time see the young girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. A heart that yearned for vengeance.

            “Severus Snape is a very accomplished Occlumens, I believe because for him it is a matter of life or death. He is also a very skilled liar, but I would not wish you to emulate his example.”

            She was frowning again, a petulant look crossing her face. “Why not? Isn’t that incredibly useful?”

            “Because, Hermione, the person the very best of liars deceive the most frequently is themselves.”

 

***

 

            “So, you’re home.”

            Severus Snape shrugged off the heavy cloak from his shoulders as he stepped into Spinner’s End, wondering if there was any difference in the temperature from the inside of the house or the bitter winds outside. Eileen Prince, his mother, was sitting by a dead fireplace with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t even look at him.

            “With that kind of warm greeting, how could I tear myself away?”

            He strode across the hallway, intending to go down to the basement where he kept his private library of books and potions recipes. He did not come to his childhood home often, and it was usually only a quick stop to pick up materials as he intended to this night.

            Her voice stopped him before he could sweep away. “They took away the Thompson’s boy.”

            Severus halted, and without turning around he asked in a disinterested tone, ‘Who?”

            “The Thompson’s. They live at the end of the street. There’s that blasted mark above their house and one of your colleagues was dragging their boy away down the road. A wizard, if you can believe. The boy turned out to be a wizard.”

            Severus hadn’t heard any news of the sort, but raids were so frequent that several teams did them on rotation. And though there was plenty of gossip amongst the Death Eaters, the Dark lord did not actively encourage them to share what their assignments were. “Weren’t they muggles?”

            Eileen snorted in disdain, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. “Your Evans girl was born to muggles. You admired her well enough.”

            Severus’ fist clenched around the railing of the stairs so tightly he was surprised the wood didn’t crack. This was one of the main reasons why his trips to Spinner’s End were as brief as they were sparse. Mother and son alike were bitter and could not rise above baiting one another.

            He let out a soft, irritable sigh. “Yes, she was. And a powerful witch as well. May the heavens fall at the audacity of it.”

            Eileen’s voice was sharp, she hated it when he took a sardonic tone with her, which was almost always. “I thought you’d be more careful with your words, Severus. Your puppet master wouldn’t thank you to hear such a sentiment.”

            “I’ve told you countless times,” Severus finally turned to face his mother, tired of having the same argument with her, “that’s a political screen. The Dark lord needed a banner to unify the magical community around him, so he made a campaign of blood purity. But that is all it is, mother, smoke and mirrors for the brainless masses. He’s far more practical than the mindless yammering the _Prophet_ publishes.”

            She gave him a pitying smirk, which made his blood simmer. He hated it whenever she looked down on him, which was also almost always. “Is that what you need to tell yourself?”

            Severus’ face was stony, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how easily she got under his skin. “If it were such an issue, I doubt the Dark lord would so readily have accepted me into his ranks.”

            Eileen began to laugh then, though it was twisted, mirthless and punctuated by a burst of deep chest coughs. “An answer for everything, my clever son. Except that you conveniently ignore the one thing that constantly puts you at jeopardy.”

            “And what may that be?” He asked through gritted teeth.

            Eileen raised a slim, dark eyebrow. She had many of the same features as her son, both with their dark hair and somber faces. “He _believes_ it. The ‘party line’.”

            Severus decided he had enough and stomped down the stairs, every footstep beating out a harsher rhythm than necessary to assuage his frustration. Eileen’s voice followed him down to the basement.

            “He was eleven years old that boy. They took a boy…”


	6. Chapter 6

            “ _Reducto!_ ”

            The wooden dummy in front of Hermione exploded into splinters. She shifted her weight to her back leg, going back into ‘neutral’ pose and raised her wand again in the proper dueling stance.

            “ _Reducto!_ ”

            Another dummy was reduced to wood chips. She heard a low whistle behind her and turned to see Lily Potter standing by the doorway.

            “We’ll certainly have enough kindling for the next week now.” Lily smirked, her arms crossed casually against her chest.

            “Hello, Lily.”

            Bless him, Harry had taken her words to heart and really tried to make friends with Hermione, but there was only so much a thirteen-year old boy could do. Hermione wasn’t unfriendly or impolite, but she kept herself apart from the other children. She always seemed more at ease around the adults, and most comfortable when she was alone.

            “Is Minerva already teaching you how to duel?”

            Hermione flushed a little, scuffing the floor with the toe of her shoe, embarrassed to be caught practicing. “No, though we’ve been learning banishing spells. I was just trying out some of the other spells from my textbook…wanted to know the difference between practice and theory…”

            Lily grinned and grabbed her arm. “Well, if some practical demonstration of Defense is what you want, let’s go find some!”

            “Is the ghoul in the attic giving Mrs. Weasley trouble again?”

            “No, this time she needs a Boggart cleaned out of a wardrobe.”

            Hermione giggled as Lily raced her up the rickety flight of stairs, allowing herself to be swept up in the mini-adventure. She jumped them two at a time, not noticing the satisfied look on Lily’s face.

            The wardrobe was up in the attic where the ghoul normally resided, though this afternoon it had chosen to knock around some pipes and be a nuisance in the toilets. The wardrobe shuddered at their presence and Hermione eyed it apprehensively.

            “A Boggart is a shape-shifter that reflects your greatest fear, but it can’t actually harm you.” Hermione looked nervously at Lily. “Right?”

            Lily smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Some lessons are better taught off-book and by just figuring it out as you go. You know the spell?”

            Hermione readied her wand and nodded. “Riddikulus.”

            “Think of something funny!” With a laugh and a wave of Lily’s wand, the wardrobe doors unlocked and then swung open. Hermione stood at the ready, a nervous smile on her face, and her eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She murmured ‘ _riddikulus_ ’ under her breath, practicing the pronunciation.

            There was a billow of black smoke that crept out of the wardrobe’s depth and then…Minerva McGonagall stepped out of the wardrobe. Lily was taken aback, she hadn’t been expecting to see her former Head of House. The McGonagall-Boggart whipped out an examination paper covered in red cross-mark’s and an ‘F’, which it took Lily a moment to remember was for ‘Fail’, rather than ‘T’ for ‘Troll’.

            “You have _failed_ all of your exams, Miss Granger! I have never seen such dreadful work in all my years of teaching!”

            The scene was so absurd that Lily was tempted to laugh, until she glanced back at Hermione. This berating doppelganger of Minerva seemed so silly…but all the blood had drained from Hermione’s face. The hand holding her wand was trembling and her voice could only rise to a strangled whisper as she desperately tried to form the word ‘ _riddikulus_ ’. Lily was shocked; could Hermione care about her grades this much?

            The boggart continued, “We were mistaken! You can never be a witch! You are just a plain, ordinary girl without any magic and you have _failed_. You have failed to save your parents and you will continue to fail-“

            With a protective arm Lily swept Hermione behind her and faced the boggart head-on. It recognized a new victim and with a ‘ _crack!_ ’ transformed into a ghostly apparition of Harry, bleeding, his face covered in half-healing scars. Lily swished and flicked her wand and commanded, “ _Riddikulus!_ ”

            The boggart shifted into her sister, Petunia, in nothing but her delicates and shrieking as she discovered her nudity, and finally the boggart vanished with another ‘ _crack!_ ’.

            Hermione was on her knees, still white, with shocked tears just beginning to fall from her eyes. Lily crouched down so she could be eye-level with the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. Hermione went red in the face and she furiously scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, stammering, “St-Stupid, I-I’m fine…so silly…”

            “My plan to cheer you up and give you a break from studying hasn’t gone very well, has it?”

            “St-stupid, _stupid_ …”

            Lily drew her up to her feet and hugged the girl, but Hermione pushed her away, trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes and mumbling that she just needed a bit more preparation, that was all. Lily wouldn’t let her run away so easily and looked her directly in the eyes. “More practice? Hermione, you need a bit less of that and bit more of just being thirteen. Of doing silly things and laughing.”

            Hermione straightened her back and composed herself, her face settling into a well rehearsed polite, but cooler expression. “I’m actually fourteen now, my birthday was a few weeks ago. And I don’t really feel like laughing.”

            With that, she walked out, leaving Lily standing alone in the attic with only the empty wardrobe, the swirling dust motes, and her troubled thoughts for company.

 

***

            “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

            Minerva McGonagall didn’t look up from the papers she was examining, gesturing to the seat in front of her makeshift desk with her quill, before scribbling down some more notes. Hermione sat down in front of her, trying not to fidget.

            “I know that you only asked for twelve inches of parchment for the Animagus paper, but I couldn’t include my findings on the correlation between the Animagus form and the bond between familiars-“

            Minerva fixed her with a raised eyebrow that clearly asked her, ‘did I allow you to speak?’ and Hermione clamped her mouth shut. Minerva went back to her transcription, finishing her last sentence in silence before finally placing her quill down and giving Hermione her full attention.

            The girl was trying so very hard to keep her questions to herself, but if she fidgeted anymore she would fall out of her chair. Minerva finally spared her and said, “You aren’t in trouble, Miss Granger.”

            “Why did you ask to see me, Professor?”

            “I merely had some questions I wished to ask you.”

            Hermione was on full alert, attentive and ready to spit out the answer to whatever examination McGonagall had. But the older witch surprised her when she asked, “What kind of lessons are you taking with Albus Dumbledore?”

            Hermione frowned slightly as she tried to recount them all, “Some Defense Against the Dark Arts, Occlumency, this week I’ve been learning the Disillusionment charm and other glamour spells…umm, a lot of theory too! And logic puzzles, and chess-“

            McGonagall cut her off with a raised hand. “And do you find your extra tutelage helpful?”

            Hermione nodded enthusiastically, “Oh yes! Some of it is quite tricky, and it’s taken a lot of practice, but I feel so much more prepared than I did even a couple months ago-“

            McGonagall interrupted her again. “Prepared for what, Miss Granger?”

            Hermione was starting to pick up on the unsettling mood of this interview. She didn’t know what Professor McGonagall wanted from her. Cautiously, she said, “For whatever’s coming.”

            “Hermione, do you know why you are learning all of these new skills? Have you thought about if this is what you want?”

            Hermione was growing more confused. “What I want?”

            McGonagall’s expression softened, and she clasped her hands together on top of her desk. “Hermione, you are a very bright, young woman. Intelligent enough to understand that what I am teaching you, and what Albus is teaching you, is all to prepare you and the other students for your involvement in the war.”

            Hermione nodded silently. She understood.

            “Albus Dumbledore is arguably the most powerful and clever wizard alive. But he is still one man. A man to be admired, to learn from and to respect, but not at the cost of your own integrity.”

            Hermione frowned. “I don’t.”

            If McGonagall didn’t believe her, she respected Hermione enough not to question her. “Good, then you are just as clever as I already thought. Remember, Miss Granger, that you have just as much power as any of us. And you are allowed to stand up for yourself, to decide when you have had enough, and most importantly, to say ‘no’.”

            McGonagall then reached for her quill, a fresh stack of parchment and began working on her notes again. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Hermione get up from the chair and leave the room quietly, wondering if any of what she said would stick with the girl or if Hermione Granger had already gone in too deep.

 

***

 

            “The Patronus charm is a very useful piece of magic, and one in fact that the majority of our enemies cannot produce. It is to your greatest advantage to learn this skill.”

            Hermione nodded, a serious expression on her face as she readied her wand. Dumbledore chuckled, gesturing for her to loosen up. “Unfortunately, it will be very difficult for you to implement the charm for its true purpose, as I do not have a Dementor on hand for a practical lesson.”

            “Aren’t some roaming around the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts school, sir?”

            Dumbledore raised a snowy eyebrow. “Are you so eager to take on a Dementor that you would risk not only werewolves, but the agents of our enemies just so you can have a bit more practice?”

            Hermione cast her eyes to the floor, embarrassed, but Dumbledore noticed the stubborn set to her chin that spoke volumes. Yes, she would take that risk gladly. He held in a sigh, and instead cleared his throat and pressed on. “Apart from repelling Dementors, we in the Order also find it to be a very useful form of communication. So, to that end, let us try and practice it now.”

            He held up his wand and she copied his every movement exactly, eager and ready. “The incantation is, ‘ _expecto patronum_ ’,” he said and with a wave of his hand a ghostly, silver phoenix burst from the tip of his wand and soared around the room. Hermione watched it agape, taken aback by what was actually just a beautiful piece of magic.

            She flourished her wand. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” A silver wisp, a bit like a sneeze, came out of her wand but nothing more.

            “A Dementor feeds off of your greatest fears and tragedies. So, a Patronus is a manifestation of your happiest, most jubilant emotions. You conjure one by concentrating on your happiest memory.”

            He gestured for her to try again. Screwing up her face in concentration, Hermione bellowed, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” but nothing happened. She looked crushed and Dumbledore was silently endeared by her frustration.

            “It is very advanced magic, Miss Granger, and I would be quite shocked if you managed a corporeal patronus at this stage, so please - do not expect to produce one. Instead, we shall keep practicing, and you should manage something more similar to a barrier of light.”

            Hermione nodded, readying her wand again. She closed her eyes as she tried to think of something happy. Getting her first full marks on a test? Getting her very first book she could read on her own for her fifth birthday? Sitting on a beach in France with her mum and dad on her summer vacation?

            “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Nothing came out of her wand, not even a wisp.

            Opening Christmas presents at her grandparent’s house, her parents and family around her. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Nothing.

            Her mum hugging her tightly and wishing her a good night, promising her everything would be all right. That Hermione had done the right thing to run, and that if she wanted a lift to school again that was fine. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Nothing.

            Her dad proudly sticking some of her early acceptance letters on their refrigerator, threatening to cry buckets at her graduation. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

            Dumbledore noted with alarm that there were tears streaming down Hermione’s face. She didn’t even notice, her eyes were closed tightly, and her wand was beginning to spit out red sparks. “Miss Granger!”

            _Something happy, something happy…._

            Hermione running into her parents’ arms somewhere in Australia, sand and shrub around them. Her parents crying with joy, laughing, sweeping her up, saying, “You’ve done it! We’re home, you’ve done it, you’ve saved us!”. Hermione pressed in on all sides by warm embraces. “ _EXPECTRO PATRONUM!”_

            “ _Miss Granger!_ ”

            Dumbledore’s arm slashed upwards in the air as he cast a shield charm on Hermione a split second before red and gold sparks exploded out of her wand. A powerful wave of magical force shot through the room like a firing canon, blasting a shelf off its hinges, ricocheting back and knocking both Hermione and Dumbledore off their feet.

            Dumbledore was on his feet a moment later, rushing over to her side. Hermione was out cold, but thankfully she was breathing and otherwise seemed unharmed. “Miss Granger, are you all right? Can you hear me?” He gently patted the side of her face, but she was unresponsive.

            There were already footsteps pounding through the house to see what the commotion was. Dumbledore lifted Hermione into his arms as Sirius burst into the room. “Sirius, clear the dining table and call for Poppy Pomfrey. Miss Granger’s magic has gone wild.”


	7. Chapter 7

            “She is in a magical coma. The force of the blast could have done some serious harm to her if she had taken the full brunt of the blow. As it stands, it has shocked her system, but she should make a full recovery.” Poppy Pomfrey passed her wand slowly across Hermione one last time, before tapping Hermione’s forehead and ending the diagnostic spell.

            She looked to the crowd of concerned faces huddled over the girl. “She’s muggleborn, yes? Her magic has been growing more powerful each year, but because it has remained dormant for so long, she lost control of it.”

            Dumbledore examined Hermione’s wand, there was a thin hairline crack running down its length. The damage was not irreversible, but it would take Ollivander’s expert hands to repair it. “Her wand in particular can channel tremendous amounts of power. It must have acted like a lightning rod.”

            Poppy Pomfrey held up Hermione’s hand, the girl’s fingertips were singed. With a tap of her wand she healed the superficial wounds. “She’s a young witch just coming into her power. Her magic is feeding off of her emotions, which are at their strongest and most volatile at this age. If she continues to use anger and pain to fuel her magic, she will always sacrifice control for power.”

            Molly Weasley was glaring daggers in Dumbledore’s direction. He was not surprised by that, but perhaps found it a little unexpected to also see a similar death stare coming from Minerva McGonagall. He placed Hermione’s wand back into her hand and gently closed her fingers around it so she would not lose it.

            “Lily, you have potions equipment? She will need to be administered this regimen until she awakes. It should not take more than a few days, but she will need a few weeks of rest.” Poppy quickly jotted down a list of potions on a scrap of parchment and handed them to Lily. She then addressed the group, “I must return to Hogwarts now, before they miss me.”

            “Stay,” James intoned, “it’s getting more dangerous.”

            Poppy gave him a faltering smile. “The children need me.” And with that she strode out of the room and vanished with a ‘ _pop!_ ’.

 

***

 

            Lily carefully watched the contents of her cauldron as she slowly lowered the temperature of the fire burning underneath, stopping once the potion was brewing at a gentle simmer. It had taken her some time to organize her old potions kit, but once she had begun the actual brewing, her hands remembered what to do and her muscle memory took over.

            Brewing potions was like a dance that required equal amounts of concentration, grace and instinct. It required focus to keep track of all of the different elements at play and to time them correctly, but there was just as much peril in over-thinking the process. Lily had been a natural in her Potions class with old Sluggy, falling instantly in love with the steaming cauldrons, the different spicy smells of the dried ingredients, the warmth of the burners.

            However, it had been a long time since she had brewed because Potions forcibly reminded her of one person in particular. She and Severus had competed in that class like fiends, each one trying to outdo the other. Her fondest memories of him were of their Potions classes together, sharing workstations, watching him in his true element bent over a cauldron, coaxing the subtlest of magic from nothing more than a pewter cauldron, some ingredients, and a bit of fire.

            And now there was a young girl just a floor above her suffering because of what he had done, for the coward’s choices he had made. Severus had always wanted power, because he had been stepped on and overlooked for his entire life. He had never listened to Lily when she tried to help him realize bigger friends, bullies, and dark arcane magic would never equal the power he had simply on his own when he was brewing luck, death or life in a bottle.

            It was really the cruelest irony that a man with the hands of a healer only used his skills for destruction.

 

***

 

            “Drink this.”

            Eileen grimaced, eyeing the smoking goblet suspiciously. Severus grew irritated and snapped, “I have no need to poison you when you’re already drinking a bottle of gin a day. Drink it.”

            “Bottoms up, Severus.” Eileen knocked the goblet back in two large swallows, her face screwing up with disgust at the bitter taste. Another cough deep within her chest made her clutch the arm rests of her chair as it shook her small frame.

            “I have another for you to drink, it will be ready in an hour,” Severus said, taking the goblet from her hand with twitching fingers. Eileen noticed the tremble and her eyes snapped up to his face. Severus wasn’t sure what she could read there, but he felt exposed in that moment.

            “Is there something on my nose?” He finally asked with a snarl.

            She smirked. “Just the sign that you’re a true Prince.” She rubbed the side of her own hooked nose, though unlike his it had red broken veins that shone through her pale skin from the drinking. She looked at her son, at the hard lines around his eyes and mouth, the stiff way he held himself, and the telltale tremble in his fingers that he had been tortured under Cruciatus again.

            “For a smart boy, you’ve only traded one brutal father for another.”

            He looked furious, spitting out his words like venom before whirling around to leave. “You have no idea.”

            Severus stormed down the rickety flight of stairs to his basement laboratory. The tremor in his hand grew worse as he grew more enraged and he had to stop and force himself to calm down. The night had been horrendous.

            The Dark lord had summoned him, and all of the other Death Eaters who could be called away from their assignments that night, in the grand hall of Malfoy Manor where most of their meetings were held. The Dark lord had wanted reports on the progress of some raids, but he was keyed up with a malicious excitement that meant his mind was preoccupied with something else entirely.

            “Severus…you’ve been skulking behind there for too long. Step forward.”

            Severus’ mental barriers immediately locked down tighter. The Dark lord was in _too_ good of a mood for this to bode well for him. He stepped forward in a bow, his face a cool mask.

            “Severus, do you friends know the disadvantage you’ve been working against this whole time?”

            _Where in Merlin’s beard was this going?_ Severus waited, his eyes trained to the floor.

            “Perhaps some of you know already, that Severus here is a product of his mother spreading her legs for some filthy muggle and sullying a pureblood line.”

            There was an eruption of raucous laughter, jeers and the particularly grating cackle from Bellatrix Lestrange. “Are you a _Half-blood_ , Snivelly?”

            It took Severus a second to remind himself hexing her would cause more trouble than it was worth. He tried to ignore the vindictive peanut gallery around him and focused his attention solely on the Dark lord. In a soft murmur, he said, “That is my shame, my lord.”

            “When was the last time you saw your muggle father, Severus?”

            Severus felt cold fear racing down his spine. He worked very hard not to enter situations where he didn’t know exactly what his next ten steps would be, but being in service to the Dark lord meant he could never rely on even the best-laid plans. “A lifetime ago, my lord.”

            “I have found him.”

            Whatever Severus had expected to hear, that was not it. What happened next seemed to be clouded in a haze. The Dark lord, laughing madly, waved his wand and conjured what looked like a pool of floating water in mid-air. A surface that shimmered, but showed a dark-haired man sitting around a dinner table with a small family.

            “Your muggle father and your _half-siblings_. It seems a lifetime is what he required to make a new family without you.”

            Severus barely registered the words, his knees weak, his entire being in shock as he watched the quiet domestic scene of the man he had hated for so much of his life, and had also wanted nothing more from but the peaceful scene he was now witnessing. The jeers, the renewed wave of laughter was a dull roar somewhere far behind him.

            _His father_ …

            “ _Crucio!_ ”

            Severus did not know what he had done wrong, but in the end it didn’t really matter. The Dark lord didn’t need a reason to want to torture him along with the utter humiliation that had already been heaped upon him.

            He stirred the potion simmering away in his cauldron three times counter-clockwise and it turned from a bright blue to a deep purple. It was ready and he ladled a smaller dosage into a fresh goblet. He counted each step he took back upstairs, a simple exercise he used to re-center his thoughts.

            “Drink this while it’s still hot.”

            Eileen took the goblet without protest, but instead of raising it to her lips, she looked at him from above its rim. Severus didn’t have the patience to deal with her obstinacy tonight. He didn’t have the patience any night. “It’s not a vintage that gets better as it matures.”

            “Maybe I don’t want your sodding potions. Maybe I don’t want your sodding treatments.”

            He rolled his eyes, pushing the goblet towards her face. “Then by all means, tell us what it is her highness wants.”

            “For you to act like a son! Who isn’t so contemptuous of me he can’t even spare a glance my way.”

            Severus reeled inwardly, Eileen’s words struck out like a slap across his face. She was breathing heavily from her outburst, the cough roiling in her chest again, her body trembling with rage and frustration. “The only way you know how to show an iota of feeling is by locking yourself away with your cauldrons. You don’t know how to form a kind word or to just _be_ with someone when they need you. You’re just like Tobias in that respect.”

            Before he even realized he had moved, Severus’ wand was in his hand and pointed right between her eyes. She snorted, then began laughing in a horrible, mirthless manner that was punctuated by another fit of coughing. Severus was shocked, he had completely lost control in a split second, something his iron sense of discipline should not have allowed.

            “Only show any passion when it’s for a fight, yes, you’re the spit of him.” Her words shamed him, but he refused to let any of it show on his face, merely lowering his wand instead. She held up the goblet, some of its contents had spilled onto the floor, and looked at him with a deep sense of pity that he found unnerving. “Did you never learn to love in a manner that wasn’t as cold as the grave?”

            Severus’ hand clenched into a fist and he wasn’t sure for a moment if he was going to knock the goblet out of her hand, before he pushed it front of her face again to drink. He grabbed his heavy cloak, fastening it around his neck as he walked out of the room.

            “Then it was your failing for never teaching me. Mother.”

 

***

 

            “How is she?”

            Molly looked up from her seat at Hermione’s bedside, then back to the inert girl whose hand she had been holding. “Sleeping. She looks very peaceful.”

            Dumbledore laid a hand on Molly’s shoulder and said, “You should get some rest. I would like to stay with her a while.”

            Molly nodded, giving Hermione’s hand a final squeeze before getting up stiffly from the chair she had been occupying for the last few hours. Dumbledore settled himself, bidding her a soft, “good night”.

            Moonlight streamed in through the window and it gave Hermione’s skin a silvery pallor that almost made her look like a corpse. Dumbledore held her hand for a moment briefly, as if to reassure himself that it was warm and she was still alive. Just lost somewhere, though the potions Lily had brewed were already bringing colour back to her cheeks.

            The war raged on around them, and a pitiful war it was at that. One that had left them broken, too few in number, and fighting only to survive. Dumbledore had witnessed and performed great and terrible magic in his many years, had struck down the great dark wizard Grindelwald when he was a younger man, and had suffered the lesson then of what it truly cost to lose a friend. Many called him the greatest wizard that ever lived, but he didn’t feel the truth in those words. He felt old. And tired.

            “You are so young,” he softly whispered to the sleeping girl, “and so brave, and so very talented. I am…I am so sorry for all that has happened to you. For all that must happen to you. And for my hand in it.”

            In the cover of darkness, no one could see the few salty drops wind down the length of his nose and fall onto the sleeve of her shirt.

            Softly, so softly, he heard a voice in the darkness answer him.

            “It’s all right…Albus…”


	8. Chapter 8

            “But I’ll fall behind!”

            Dumbledore raised a firm hand and a warning eyebrow, indicating that Hermione had best fall back onto her pillows and commit to her bed rest as prescribed. She flopped back a little petulantly, bored to tears.

            “You are already so far ahead in your studies that you could sleep for two years and Mr. Potter and Weasley would still be catching up with you.”

            She smirked a little at that, trying to hide her pleasure at the compliment, but failing. Dumbledore reached underneath his chair and brought out a small stack of books and parchment. She reached out eagerly for them and he held them back. “No spell work, Miss Granger, even when Mr. Ollivander has finished his repairs to your wand. You are to read only and to, as Poppy put it, ‘take it easy for goodness’ sake!’”.

            He finally let her take the books, which she happily began to arrange by her bed. She looked at the parchment and the accompanying quill and pot of ink. “Will I be writing essays, sir?”

            “I have an exercise instead for you, one that isn’t taxing, and that you can do from bed when you are in want of something slightly more active to do.” He flipped open one of the books, a collection of several volumes of the potions journal _Ars Alchemica_ , and revealed a small bundle of handwritten pages. “You can try your hand at mimicking another person’s penmanship.”

            Hermione flipped through the pages with interest. “Isn’t there a charm that can duplicate that, sir?”

            “Yes, but every charm, however small, leaves behind a trace of magic. There may be some instances where doing things the old-fashioned way is more effective.”

            Hermione’s lips pursed together in concentration as she scanned the notes. “This is Lily’s handwriting.”

            “Yes, and her notes for the papers she had published in this very journal.”

            Hermione’s eyes widened as she quickly flipped to the table of contents of the journal, looking for Lily Potter’s name. “Lily was published in _Ars Alchemica_? I didn’t realize she was such a respected potions mistress.” Hermione frowned a little as she hunted for Lily’s name. “Lily…Evans?”

            “That is her maiden name, and just who do you think was brewing you all these awful-tasting concoctions you’ve been drinking this past week? I’m afraid I cannot take the credit, my beard has a tendency of dipping into whatever I’m brewing.”

            Hermione giggled a little as Dumbledore patted his lengthy, white beard that he tucked into the belt of his robes. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and readied her quill, her tongue poking out slightly between her teeth as she focused on copying the distinct way Lily formed her words.

            Dumbledore left with the knowledge that Hermione would master this skill as well, and would have another essential tool to arm her for the future.

 

***

 

THREE YEARS LATER

 

 

            “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

            “ _Protego!_ ”

            Ron’s disarming spell bounced harmlessly off the golden shield that appeared in front of Hermione, flying past his head and barely missing his ear. There was already a fine sheen of sweat on his brow as he screwed his face up in concentration and wracked his brains for any hex, any other charm he could throw her way. Hermione, on the other hand, was the very image of poise and calm.

            Sirius had his hands in his hair, and yelled in a despairing tone, “Don’t try to _disarm_ her, Ron - blast her off her feet!”

            Ron was halfway through forming the body-binding curse when a flurry of coloured lights was fired in his direction. He stumbled backwards, trying to parry each spell Hermione had fired his way, and in a few seconds she had covered the ground between them. She arched an eyebrow as if to ask ‘is that all?’ and her wand was raised above her head.

            Panicked and cornered, with a wand-tip pointed at his face, Ron’s reflexes took over and ignoring his own magic he instead threw his arm back and punched Hermione squarely in the nose.

            Startled, Hermione staggered back a step. Ron’s face was torn between an apology and fear.

            Sirius was beside himself. “ARE YOU IN A WIZARD’S DUEL OR A BLOODY PUB BRAWL?”

            “I’m sorry, ‘Mione-“

            “ _Stupefy!_ ”

            Ron was knocked off his feet and landed on the grass, out cold. Hermione wrinkled her nose and pressed it gingerly with her fingers. It wasn’t broken, just smarted, so no real harm done. She muttered, ‘ _enervate_ ’ and revived Ron, helping him back onto his feet.

            Sirius was already striding across the gardens to give Ron a piece of his mind, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him. “It’s all right, Sirius, really. That was actually really smart, Ron. Most people wouldn’t expect you to hit them in a duel. It’s a good advantage to have. I’ll have to remember and try it next time.”

            She shook his hand, said, “Good duel” and then gathered her books and ran back into the Burrow, off to another lesson. Ron was still flustered, shaking the feeling back into his limbs, and shook his head slowly at Sirius.

            “I don’t want to spar with her anymore. I told you, she’s bloody spooky. Why can’t I keep practicing with Harry?”

            Sirius sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Because if you keep practicing with your best mate, it’ll just get the both of you killed when you’re face to face with a Death Eater. Manage to keep up with _her_ …well, both of you might stand a chance.”

            Sirius saw the downtrodden and still slightly shell-shocked look on Ron’s face and let out a short, sharp laugh that resembled a bark. He clapped his hand to Ron’s shoulder and started walking with him back to the kitchen. “Come on, your brothers should be back with Tonks by now, they’ll have some more news on what’s going on in the Ministry.”

            Fred and George had goofed around so much that even Ron had secretly agreed with Molly’s misgivings when they had been inducted into the Order. However, as it turned out, their talent for mischief, pranks, and the inventive magical items they had been cooking up their whole lives made them excellent agents of disruption. This week Tonks had smuggled them into the quarters of the _Daily Prophet_ , and they had set loose a barrage of chaos and anarchy that had shut down the paper during a crucial moment in the Ministry’s campaign for blood registry.

            Fred and George had been in the Order now for almost two years. Bill and Charlie for even longer. No one in the family spoke to Percy, as he’d washed his hands of the family and had worked his way up the Ministry to Fudge’s acting assistant. Ron was the next to go. He and Harry were a year away from becoming full wizards, for finally being able to do their part in a war that had been going on their entire lives.

            “Do you think I’m ready, Sirius?”

            Ron’s voice was small, choked to a whisper. He went red in the face immediately, embarrassed to have voiced his doubts out loud.

            Sirius glanced at him and decided to speak candidly, to respect that he was walking alongside a boy who had been forced to learn quickly how to be a man. “You’d be barking mad if you weren’t nervous. I wasn’t ready. James wasn’t ready. You and Harry won’t be either. It all comes down to whether you’re still willing to give it your best go, even when you’re in above your head. That’s where you can measure a wizard’s worth. And I don’t doubt for a second that you won’t make us all proud.”

            Ron gave him a weak smile, then took in a few deep breaths, standing up a little straighter. He cracked out a short laugh, trying to dispel the gloom in the air. “Maybe if I’d hit the books as hard as Hermione, I’d feel as confident as she does.”

            Sirius just shook his head. “No, Ron…it may be hard to believe, but she’s in the exact same boat you are.”

 

***

 

            The room was empty, which was unusual, as Dumbledore never missed an appointment with her. Hermione held up her wand, entering the room more slowly than normal, taking stock of her surroundings. It was possible there was a booby trap, or some other hidden danger.

            Hermione first cast a protective ward around herself, then a general diagnostic spell that scanned the room. No threats. She walked to the center of it and compared Dumbledore’s office today, with her memories of it in the past. There was something different. His foe glass, normally kept on the mantel was missing, and instead of his sneak-o-scope, there was a jar with a black spider inside.

            Hermione was puzzled and looked around the room again. Fawkes was sitting on his perch, his head buried underneath one of his wings, snoozing. Well, if Fawkes wasn’t on alert that meant everything was fine. That also meant…that Dumbledore was nearby.

            “ _Homenum Revello!_ ”

            Two figures began to buzz with golden light in the corner of the office. Then Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody suddenly materialized, Dumbledore with a flick of his wand, and Moody from underneath an invisibility cloak.

            “Yer a cautious one, Granger. As we all should be.” Moody stomped towards the desk, folding up his cloak as he went.

            Dumbledore quirked a small smile at her, “A useful little charm, no?”

            Hermione nodded in agreement, also smiling.

            “Albus asked me to spare an hour today to give you a practical demonstration.” Moody unscrewed the lid of the jar with the spider inside, his magical eye swiveling in its socket to look directly at her. “It won’t be pretty.”

            “The Unforgiveables,” Hermione whispered. The past year had been her most intense year of study. She had stopped taking lessons with Professor McGonagall and the other students, and Dumbledore had taken on her education full-time. She had run several practice missions and field tests, hammering in all of her theoretical knowledge with as much practical experience as she could. The Unforgiveable Curses, which she had been studying all month now, was the last branch of magic she was going to learn about before she turned seventeen in a week.

            “That’s right. _Engorgio_.” The spider in Moody’s hand ballooned to the size of a small apple. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, “ _Imperio_ ”.

            “The Mind-Control curse. Allows the user to bend another person to their will,” she recited, unable to tear her eyes away from the spider.

            “Aye, should I make her do cart wheels? Tap dance?” Moody flicked and bobbed his wand in the air, and the spider scuttled across the desktop and jumped in time with his wand movement. Hermione shook her head, disturbed. Moody made the spider follow a figure-eight pattern along the desk surface, and said, “Someone with a very strong sense of will can repel the Imperius Curse. Think you’d be able to, Granger?”

            Hermione simply nodded. Without arrogance or bravado, just with the simple confidence that yes, she could. Moody seemed satisfied.

            “Next. _Crucio!_ ” A red jet of light shot from his wand and hit the spider. It immediately recoiled, flipping onto its back, its spindly legs twitching in the air, almost bending itself out of joint with agony. Hermione’s eyes grew a little wider, and she felt the bile rise in her throat. It was eerie and almost worse to bear witness because it was completely silent.

            “The Torture curse,” she finally said, softly, “the Dark lord’s favourite tool to use for discipline and to humiliate.”

            “And it requires focus to prolong. Break the caster’s concentration, and the curse halts.” Moody moved his wand away, looking away from the spider, and it seemed to sag and melt into a puddle of relief on the desktop. Moody looked to Hermione, with both eyes, and said, “Remember that. It could save your life one day.”

            She nodded solemnly. Moody then looked to the spider, and a grimace of distaste curled around his mouth. Without any fanfare or warning, he pointed his wand at the spider and cried, “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

            A jet of green light burst from his wand, shot through the spider, and it was as if the light had stolen the life out of the small creature as it dissipated into the air. The spider lay limp, its legs still frozen in place, simply _gone_.

            “The Killing Curse,” Moody said for her, “and no one’s ever survived it. So dodge it or scarper, there’s no walking away from it.”

            Hermione let out a breath she did not know she had been holding in. It was over so quickly that half of her was still expecting the spider to get back on its feet. She had a curious thought start to turn over in her mind, that this curse, this death spell, was such an arrogant piece of magic. It was over so quickly, without a trace left on the body, so easy, so simply over with. There was no time to process or to really come to terms with the fact that you had ended a life. If the Dark lord and his Death Eaters killed all of their enemies, and innocents, in such a manner…it was no wonder they never felt the consequences of their actions.

            They never had to really face them.

            “And now, young Miss Granger, it’s time for you to try your hand at these.”

            “What?” Hermione was broken out of her thoughts, and looked to Moody in shock. He wasn’t joking, but then Moody never jested. Hermione then looked to Dumbledore, expecting him to side with her that Moody’s idea of a practical lesson had gone too far, but Dumbledore too had an expectant look on his face.

            Moody sensed her reluctance, and his voice was gruff. “What do you think we’ve been doing here this whole time, Granger? Playing make believe? There’s a war, you’re a damn good soldier, and it’s time you learned how to save your own skin.”

            “I don’t need to torture someone to do that.”

            “Granger!” Moody barked, “If Lucius Malfoy, or that lunatic Bellatrix Lestrange, or bloody Voldemort himself, has you on the end of a hostile wand - _are you proposing to me that you’re only going to use ‘Expelliarmus’?_ It’s you or them - CONSTANT VIGILANCE.”

 

            Hermione quailed slightly as Moody yelled at her, but Dumbledore could already see the stubborn set to her chin. She wasn’t going to be intimidated and she wasn’t going to back down. “If timed correctly, ‘Expelliarmus’ can cause your opponent’s curse to rebound against them. All it takes is the right application of any spell to end a duel.”

            Moody perched on the ledge of the desk, waving a hand in the air to indicate that he didn’t want to argue with her. “You can textbook me all day, Miss Granger. You’re much smarter than me in that regard. But I’ve survived one wizarding war and I’ve now fought in two, and I’m still alive. And I’ll tell you from experience that if you’ve got an opportunity to put a tool in your belt, you don’t leave it behind.”

            Hermione looked furious and frustrated all at once, glancing between Moody and Dumbledore, unsure of who she was upset with more. “The Unforgiveable Curses are named so because they are _crimes_ against humanity. They are the worst possible things you can do to another person. Enslavement? Torture? Murder? If I use these ‘tools’ then how am I different from who I’m fighting?”

            Moody pulled out his pipe and began to stuff the bowl with tobacco. He had a dark look on his face. “I used to ask myself those questions when I was a younger man. But all it will do is keep you from sleeping at night, or worse, get you killed.”

            Hermione saw that she wasn’t going to gain any ground from Moody, and turned to Dumbledore instead. “Sir, I understand that these curses can be useful, but at what cost? There are _other ways_ -“

            “Miss Granger, no one is proposing that you use these curses on a regular basis or to take them lightly in any manner. But to end this war-“

            Hermione interrupted him, something she had rarely done in the past. “You didn’t kill Gellert Grindelwald when you fought him! You didn’t murder him! Would you kill Voldemort now?”

            Her cheeks had a slight flush to them and her eyes were fierce. Dumbledore felt a momentary pang in his heart at the mention of his historic duel and its outcome. She was noble, so noble, but this was a hurdle he felt she would have to overcome, as she had never seen a true battlefield, where the noble usually went to die. “Yes, Hermione. If I had to face Voldemort today, I would end his life. I was a different man those many years ago then I am today, and Voldemort is not the same wizard I managed to imprison. This is not the same war.”

            She looked at him helplessly, and then down at her hands, struggling with the internal debate raging inside her mind. “I…I would do anything within my power to stop him, there’s no doubt of that. But these curses…I do not think I have it within me to use them. Even as a last resort.”

            Moody puffed on his pipe and blue smoke streamed out of his nostrils in thin jets, making him resemble a crusty, old dragon. His voice was soft, but not without teeth. “Maybe you’ve got a pure enough heart that you wouldn’t be able to summon the hatred needed to use ‘Avada’ on even a monster like Voldemort. But I think you’d feel different if it was Severus Snape at the mercy of your wand.”

            Hermione looked like she had been slapped in the face. Dumbledore cringed inwardly, he was not always in agreement with Alastor’s aggressive methods of ‘motivation’, but he could not speak against the other wizard without being hypocritical. He may have used gentler words, but his goal was still the same.

            Hermione’s hand clenched around her wand, trembling with anger. Dumbledore spoke softly, “Hermione, just consider this, another spell to practice which you may not ever need to use-“

            “No.”

            She drew herself up, her spine ramrod straight. “ _No_ , Albus. I won’t.” And she walked out of the room with her head held high.

            Dumbledore sagged a little as he watched her leave. He had hoped it would not have come to this. Moody let out a bitter laugh and said, “Say goodbye to your protégé, Albus. She’s her own witch now.”

            “She is right, of course, to have this conviction…”

            Moody snorted and ran his finger along the deep, ugly scar that cut through the side of his face. “We don’t have the luxury for that conviction. We don’t live in that world. We need to do the unforgiveable so that maybe our children can live in that world.”

 

***

 

            “I rather think that if you couldn’t convince her, Albus, then there’s not much else I can do.”

            “She is fond of you, Minerva, and holds your words in high regard. You cannot deny you have a different relationship with Miss Granger than I do. She would listen to you.”

            Minerva set down her quill with a firm look on her face. “We do and she would, precisely because I would not have this conversation with her. If Hermione Granger refuses to learn the Unforgiveable curses then I will not try to persuade her otherwise, in fact, I would applaud her.”

            Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose in a rare display of frustration and helplessness. “Hermione is turning seventeen in less than a week. She will be a full member of the Order and sent on the most perilous missions, not because I ask her to, but because she is determined to play her part. That blame you cannot assign to me.”

            Minerva raised an eyebrow at that soft rebuke, but decided not to address it as his veiled accusations were true. “There’s no denying that she has been molded by what has happened to her, but I’ve always maintained that she is still a girl, Albus. Not a tool to be hammered into the shape you desire. You-Know-Who has done that to countless children who have grown up into twisted adults, we’ve seen that happen to our former students time and time again. Our sacrifice, and our saving grace, is that we allow each other to make our own choices, for better or for worse.”

            Dumbledore’s eyes flashed momentarily, wounded by her remarks, but unable to refute them. Instead, he continued, “If our enemies discover we have an agent in the field with such an acute Achilles heel, they will exploit it mercilessly. We would be sending her to the wolves already smelling of fresh blood.”

            Minerva had wanted to be harsh with him, but she heard the genuine concern and affection in Dumbledore’s voice. Despite his machinations and schemes, he cared. A key difference that she held onto when she had her doubts as to how the Order differed from the current regime.

            “You are not sending a lamb, Albus, but a lioness.” Minerva got up from her chair so she could stand eye-level with Dumbledore. “You know the girl better than anyone. She’s made up her mind? Then only Imperiusing her will get her to change. And even then, she’d probably fight it off.”

            Minerva smirked, and Dumbledore quirked a small smile of his own, despite his concerns. She placed her hand over his and patted it awkwardly, uncomfortable with having to reassure him. “If any of us could take down You-Know-Who and all his blasted Death Eaters without using the Killing curse, it would be Hermione Granger.”

            Dumbledore nodded slowly, not because his concerns had faded, or that he thought this was the right course of action, but because he knew he either trusted Hermione or he didn’t. And he chose to trust her. He looked at Minerva curiously and said, “You called her a lioness.”

            Minerva was caught off-guard, but then felt a sense of pride rush through her that was so great, she found herself a little emotional. “If there wasn’t a war, if we were still just teachers at Hogwarts school…I have no doubt in my mind that Hermione would have been sorted into _my_ house.”


	9. Chapter 9

            “I shall be leaving tomorrow night on a task of utmost importance. It is time we expand our interests outside of England, and rejoin our natural allies. I will begin recruitment at Durmstrang school. I require one of you to join me.”

            Voldemort watched his followers murmur excitedly amongst themselves, and he saw several hooded figures step forward to receive the honour of accompanying their lord. He observed one figure in particular through his slit, yellow eyes.

            “Not you, Severus.” Voldemort ignored the next wave of hushed laughter, and called out, “Bellatrix. You shall join me tomorrow night.”

            Her face lit up with manic glee and she flashed an awful smile at Severus. “Not good enough, Snivelly! _Half-blood_ -“

            “Enough.” Bellatrix immediately silenced herself, prostrating herself on the ground before him. Voldemort beckoned to Severus with a crooked finger and then turned away from his gathered followers. He did not need to look behind him to know Severus was following him, the man’s soft footsteps echoing in the grand hall.

            Severus had been on the brunt end of mockery and humiliation since his blood status had been publicly revealed. Teasing and schoolyard bullying did not bother him; he had seven years of practice as a Hogwarts student in ignoring it. Most of the time the Dark lord made no mention of it, but it was on the few occasions he decided to join in that Severus truly suffered.

            Severus was wondering if this would be another one of those nights, but the fact that the Dark lord wanted a private audience with him was giving him hope that he would escape torture tonight. They entered one of Lucius’ private chambers, reserved for the Dark lord’s use, and Voldemort sat down on one of the high-backed leather chairs, Nagini slithering around his feet.

            The Dark lord sat in silence for a moment, stroking the monstrous snake, before finally acknowledging Severus’ presence. “I will not lie to you, Severus. Your half-blood status will prevent you from ever reaching a position of power amongst my ranks. I will never be able to publicly honour you above your Pureblood compatriots.”

            Severus fought down a wave of disappointment, automatically murmuring, “My Lord has already honoured me beyond measure-“

            Voldemort held up a pale hand, waving away his next words. “I told you once before, Severus, that you are not a sycophant. That mantle does not suit you.”

            “Then what does my lord require?”

            Voldemort smirked, a nasty sneer that curled upwards and displayed a flash of his pointed teeth. “You are unique. While your parentage is unfortunate, it does not diminish your usefulness to me. I need someone I can rely on, someone in the shadows, who can carry out my bidding with the utmost discretion.”

            Severus kept his head bowed, though inwardly he was beginning to feel a little excited. He understood, the Dark lord would never be able to publicly display favour upon him, but he could very well become the person the Dark lord trusted the most.

            “Are you worthy of such a role? Is this too much of a burden for you to bear?”

            “No, my lord,” Severus said eagerly, “I will not disappoint you.”

            “No,” Voldemort said softly, “you will not.”

            The Dark lord rose to his feet and moved over to the fireplace in the room. His long, skeletal fingers ran over the embroidered tapestry that hung above the fire, and then there was a ‘ _click_ ’ as a secret mechanism was triggered. The fire immediately went out, and the bricks began to shift, yawning open to reveal a hidden chamber.

            Severus had trained himself well over the years to never betray any emotion on his face, but he could not prevent his eyes from widening slightly in that moment.

            Voldemort’s voice was like a silky hiss that wrapped around his ears. “Be my shadow agent, Severus. One I can trust. One I can rely upon. One who will never question or disobey my orders…”

            Severus stared at the small group of people huddled in the chamber, bound and gagged. The sweaty, frightened faces of two children. The pretty, pale face of a woman. The bloodied face of a man who stared at him in shock, with the same black, tunnel-like eyes that he had passed onto his son.

            Voldemort’s voice remained quiet, but it had taken on an excited, breathy quality. He hissed, “You know what you must do.”

            Severus felt the world stand still for a moment. Then, like a good agent, he nodded and said, “I do, my lord,” before stepping forward towards his father with his wand raised.

 

***

 

            “Happy birthday, Hermione dear.” Molly Weasley set down a large, delicious-looking chocolate cake on the dining table. Everyone around her clapped, and Hermione was a little embarrassed from all the attention.

            Lily smiled at her and said, “You’re a full witch now, Hermione. Congratulations.”

            Harry grinned and jostled her playfully. “Feel any different?”

            Hermione laughed and shrugged. “Not really.”

            “And,” Sirius tapped his fork against his wineglass, gathering everyone’s attention, “now that you are of age, you have a serious decision to make. And not lightly.”

            Hermione nodded and squared her shoulders. She was ready for this, she had been thinking of this moment since she had first stepped foot into the magical world. Sirius looked to Dumbledore, who had a curious look on his face, as if he wished he could delay the moment for as long as possible.

            Finally, in a serious tone, Dumbledore asked, “Hermione Granger, are you willing to join and serve our organization, understanding that you put your life in peril and that it will require many sacrifices and hardships?”

            All eyes in the room were upon her, but she did not notice. She looked steadily into Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes and said confidently, “I am willing, sir.”

            He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and without smiling announced, “Then welcome, Hermione, to the Order of the Phoenix.”

            There was a small smattering of applause from the group gathered, and a mix of reactions. Moody raised his pint to her and drank from it deeply. Molly clapped, though a bit reservedly, and Minerva did not move from her seat at all. James and Sirius clapped a hearty hand to her shoulders, and Tonks wiggled her eyebrows at her to make her laugh.

            Lily touched her arm to get her attention and then presented her with a wrapped parcel. “This is for you, from James and I.”

            “Oh, Lily, please don’t tell me you went to any trouble-“

            Lily rolled her eyes and said, “Open your bloody present, Hermione.”

            Hermione grinned and tore off the wrapping to reveal a black cloak. It looked plain at first, but she felt the material underneath her fingertips and realized it was fantastically well tailored. It wasn’t a solid shade of black either, and closer inspection revealed it was many different shades of dark grey that blended together. She looked at Lily curiously, but it was James who answered her unspoken question.

            “That’s for camouflage at night. If the cloak were solid black, you’d be a witch-shaped cut-out in the darkness. But this will let you blend into the shadows more easily.”

            Lily took the cloak and draped it around Hermione’s shoulders, showing her the various features hidden on the inside. “That’s for your wand, and that’s for a spare wand. All these pockets are meant for potion vials. And there’s a hidden lining if you ever need to hide something.”

            Hermione admired the different compartments and looked at Lily excitedly, “Thank you so much! This will be so useful, and it’s warm!”

            Harry grinned ruefully at his father, absently trying to smooth down his messy hair. “That looks right handy, dad. You’re making me a little jealous.”

            James winked at him. “Trust me, Harry, I’ve got an even cooler cloak to give you when you turn of age.”

            “Lily,” Hermione spoke close to her ear, the party starting to get noisier around them, “I was wondering if I could have a word with you, actually. Somewhere quiet?”

            “You’re missing your own party,” Lily said, but she followed Hermione to one of the upstairs bedrooms, away from the crowd.

            Hermione shut the door behind them, and they were enveloped in peaceful quiet. Lily saw the determined look on Hermione’s face and she raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out. This isn’t some spur-of-the-moment conversation, is it?”

            Hermione looked a little guilty, caught so easily by the older woman. “No, it’s not. It’s no secret I would join the Order, I just had to wait until tonight for it to be official. So Dumbledore and I have been preparing, and I already have my first mission.”

            “I suppose we all had to start on the ground running,” Lily muttered, having accepted the situation but still displeased.

            “And for me to get started, I need your help.”

            “Anything, love.”

            Hermione still had a guilty look on her face, struggling to find the right way to word her request. Lily grew a little apprehensive, now feeling as if she didn’t have a clue as to where this was going. She and Hermione had quite an open and honest relationship, so if the girl was feeling this nervous, it must be a difficult request.

            “It’s…it’s not easy to ask for. And you can say ‘no’! But…it will help me. It will really help me.”

            Lily took Hermione’s hands into her own and drew the girl, woman, towards her. Hermione met her gaze and Lily tried to impress upon her, in that silent moment, of how proud she was of Hermione and the witch she had become. “Ask, Hermione.”

            “I need your memories.”

            Lily took a deep breath, surprised, but then nodded. “All right.” She saw the mirrored look of surprise on Hermione’s face. Hermione had obviously anticipated more resistance. “I trust you. I know that you wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Dumbledore and you must have some kind of plan and…this will help us, right?”

            Hermione nodded, solemn. “It could end this war.”

            Lily was satisfied, that was all she needed to hear. She knelt down on the floor and closed her eyes, taking deep calming breaths. Hermione knelt down in front of Lily and held the other woman’s hand.

            “ _Legilimens_.”

            Lily’s memories flew thick and fast in front of her eyes, like film reels flickering past at lightning speed. She could feel the presence of Hermione’s mind, hesitant at first, consciously trying to be gentle, as she searched through Lily’s memories.

            Lily at school, being sorted into Gryffindor. On her first train ride to Hogwarts, sitting with Severus in an empty compartment. Their first Potions class together, then another in their fifth year. “Mudblood!” The moment that had ended their friendship.

            Her recollections were jumbled and out of order, she could feel Hermione sorting through them, jumping from one point to the next.

            Lily playing with Petunia out in the field, the Snape boy watching them. Severus showing her the first piece of magic she had ever witnessed. Watching from her bedroom window as Spinner’s End rocked with another argument.

            Harry being born, the joy she had felt. Sharing her first wedded kiss with James. Producing a Patronus, a silver doe that sprang from out of her wand, running with its ghostly white tail held high like a flag, off to deliver a message for the Order.

            Severus begging her to leave the country. Warning her that England wouldn’t be safe any longer. The spiteful words that left her lips, telling him he had chosen poorly and that they were all to suffer for the mistakes he made.

            Night, outside the Granger house. Seeing Hermione for the first time. The awesome and terrible duel that raged in the quiet street as she fought Severus. Saw the look on his face when he realized who she was. “He won’t stay his hand for me. Not after all this time.”

            “He will. He always has.”

            And suddenly, Lily was back in the dusty room, rocking back on her heels. She did not even realize there were tears streaming down her face. Hermione’s eyes flew open a moment later, both of them recovering from the massive memory exchange. Lily looked at Hermione in shock, and the younger witch could not hold her gaze, ashamed of herself in a way.

            “What are you getting yourself into, Hermione?”

            Hermione looked down at their hands, still clasped together. “It’s not what you think…it’s not for revenge, I swear.”

            “Then I am even more afraid for you.”

 

***

 

            Severus stood above his mother’s grave, wondering if he should have brought flowers. Then again, the woman had never liked flowers. She had never liked much of anything.

            She certainly would have been beside herself if somehow, beyond the grave, she knew what he had done. The audacity it took for him to stand there in some semblance of remembering her, or honouring her memory, with the kind of bloodshed staining his hands.

            He wondered if it had been an easier evil to commit because she was already gone, unaware, unable to see him walk through the door of Spinner’s End and read his sins upon his face. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. The consternation of his mother would not have stayed his hand. Or if it were the only thing that could, that was still a damnation.

            _Coward_.

            That word had been flung in his face many times, by several different people. It had wounded him when it came from Lily Evans. It had twisted him when it came from Eileen.

            And now, that he was spinning that word inside his mind, trying to condemn himself, trying to punish himself into feeling something, _anything_ , he just felt hollow.

            “Your son is a coward,” he said aloud to the silent grave, and still felt nothing. So he turned and walked away, there was nothing left for him here.

            His feelings, his memories, his mourning, none of it belonged to him anymore. A tool had only the agency of its master, and nothing else except its purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end of Part 1.
> 
> Part 2 will be formatted and posted over the weekend.


	10. Chapter 10

**PART TWO** \- _Point, Counter-Point_

 

ONE YEAR LATER

*** 

            “ _Confringo!_ ”

            Hermione fired the spell behind her and out of the corner of her eye she saw a fireball light up in the sky, a Death Eater’s robes catching flame. She whipped her head forward and flattened herself against her broom to try and pick up more speed, now that she had bought herself a second’s grace. She really, _really_ hated flying.

            “Does SOMEBODY want to explain to me again, how we ended up in this bloody mess!” She could hear Ron’s voice somewhere behind her through the rush of the cold winds whipping around them, and then the laughter of one of the twins.

            “Because we really ticked off You-Know-Who!”

            There was suddenly the roar of a curse blast, and the sound of wood splintering. Ron shrieked, “George!” and Moody’s bellowed answer of, “Stay on course, Weasley!”

            “Harry! In formation with me - we’re going to pick him up!” James yelled above the din, and a second broom swooped in to fly parallel with him. Harry was an excellent flier like his father, and they often worked as a team on broomstick. With perfect timing, as if they could communicate telepathically, Harry and James hurtled towards the ground, grabbed George by the robes and both pulled up out of their dive at the last second.

            Moody was running interference on the swarm of Death Eaters that were quickly catching up to them, and he roared at Hermione, “Get moving, Granger! What are you waiting around for?”

            A split second later she saw a green jet of light him in the chest, but she was already speeding away before she could watch him slip off his broom and fall to the ground. She left the anguished cries of, “ _Mad-Eye!_ ” behind her, grimly telling herself that she couldn’t help him, she had to leave, the mission was her top priority.

            The Burrow was just in sight, and inwardly Hermione sobbed in relief. She dove towards the ground, unable to slow down her broom’s momentum, and tumbled off of it before it crashed away from her. The wind was knocked out of her for a moment and she coughed and spat dirt out of her mouth. Molly Weasley came running out of the house when she saw her, and Hermione waved to her frantically.

            “They’re chasing us, be careful!”

            Molly looked to the skies to see several other figures on broomstick coming towards them. She saw Tonks’ face, streaked with blood and tears, coming up fast to the opening in the protection ward that surrounded the property. Tonks shot through, also taking a hard landing onto the grass. She was swiftly followed by Harry, James and George, who was bleeding heavily from a gaping wound on the side of his head. Molly’s face constricted as she ran towards her injured son.

            Ron, Fred and Arthur came soon after, but they had brought a group of Death Eaters on their tail. Hermione brought up her wand, sweat rolling down her brow, as she knew she would have to time this to the nanosecond.

            Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the remaining Weasley men dove for the opening in the shield, hurtling towards the Burrow like stars falling from the sky. Hermione watched Arthur’s broomstick, which brought up the rear, and waited for the second he cleared the ward so she could close it before a Death Eater punched through. However, the Death Eaters did something unexpected.

            One held up a hand, holding the rest of the group back, then gestured their arm forward like a general commanding his soldiers to fire. They all raised their wands and shot as many curses through the hole, just missing Arthur, but aiming for the house instead.

            “ _Protego Maxima!_ ” Hermione closed the shield a second too late. Her timing would have stopped a Deather Eater on broomstick, but it did not close soon enough to block all of the curses. She looked up in dismay, and saw the leader of the squad on his broomstick, and she could just make out the familiar long black hair, the hooked nose…Snape. Of course. The tactician whose critical thinking had so devastated them anytime he was involved in an encounter.

            It was over in a matter of seconds, and time seemed to resume its normal pace again. The Burrow was rocked by the barrage of curses, with parts of the house exploding and catching fire. Someone yelled, “Ginny!” but she was already running out of the house, her wild red hair streaming behind her.

            Molly had George cradled in her arms, and she turned slowly to watch her home falling apart in front of her. The firelight danced in her eyes as she knelt completely frozen, too shocked to even cry. So much had just been ripped from her all at once, that she couldn’t comprehend the loss.

            “ _Expecto Patronum_.” A silver otter burst from the tip of Hermione’s wand, chattering excitedly at her as it swirled in the air. “The Burrow has been attacked,” Hermione said, and her patronus raced off into the air to relay her message.

            Moments later Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sirius apparated onto the Burrow’s grounds. Sirius and McGonagall joined James and Arthur as they tried to extinguish the house. Dumbledore went over to Molly’s side to inspect George’s wound. His ear was missing.

            Hermione could hear Dumbledore’s voice, soft, over the roaring fires. “It has been cursed off, I’m afraid it cannot be re-attached. But he will recover, there is no other damage done.”

            “Look, Fred,” said George in a faint voice, “I’m saintly…”

            “Saintly?”

            George snickered a little, woozy and disoriented, at Fred’s uncharacteristically somber tone. “Yeah…I’m holey…”

            Dumbledore rose to his feet and surveyed the shattered group, taking stock of the situation. “Where is Alastor?”

            He locked eyes with Hermione. She glanced towards the gardens, away from the fires, where Tonks was still kneeling on the ground, one arm hiding her face as she cried hysterically into her robe sleeves. Dumbledore followed Hermione’s gaze, saw Tonks mourning, and then looked back to see Hermione just shake her head slowly. His eyes sunk, he understood.

            Hermione got to her feet and joined the group extinguishing the burning house. There was no time to feel sorry or to lick her wounds, there was merely a job to be done and someone had to hold it all together.

***

            The Burrow was a blackened wreck with crater holes piercing the structure of the house where it had been struck by curses. There were burn marks all over the walls and destroyed furniture littered the floors. Most of the Order had relocated to 12 Grimmauld Place for the time being.

            Hermione sat at one of the picnic benches that had miraculously survived the onslaught in the gardens, and sipped at a cup of tea as she watched Molly Weasley pick through the ruins of her house. Once George’s condition had been stabilized, Molly insisted that she had to return to the Burrow, so Hermione followed her as an extra wand. Molly had sniffed a little at first as she took stock of what precious items, keepsakes and heirlooms had been destroyed. Now she had on a pair of pink, rubber gloves and was furiously scrubbing the burn marks off her walls.

            “How is she faring?”

            Hermione turned at the sound of Dumbledore’s voice and watched as he took a seat beside her. She then looked back to Molly, busy at her self-appointed chores.

            “Half the walls of her house are gone, that you can see right into most of the bedrooms. The Death Eaters almost broke into one of our safe houses. Mad-Eye is dead and George is now short an ear. And she’s _cleaning_.”

            Dumbledore looked innocently at her and raised an eyebrow as if to ask, “And, so?” Hermione frowned, incredulous at the situation. “I just feel like there’s a lot more we need to be doing right now.”

            Dumbledore frowned slightly and he glanced over at Molly with understanding, rather than the incredulousness Hermione felt. “Molly has raised all of her children from infants to adults in that house. It is more than four walls, it is a monument to her life, her family, her memories, and it is her home. She is coping admirably, in my opinion, and doing what she can.”

            Hermione shrugged cynically, still unable to see his point of view. “By cleaning? Cooking? Worrying? Is that going to bring Mad-Eye back to life, or give George his ear back? Is that going to end the war? It’s just a little ridiculous.”

            “Miss Granger, I am so very disappointed in you.” Hermione was startled by the unexpectedly sharp tone in Dumbledore’s voice. He did not look angry, but his eyes had grown harder. “Because Molly Weasley’s strengths lie in an area not obvious to you, you have underestimated her and done her a disservice in how you have judged her. Would you be surprised to know she is quite a capable duelist? It matters not. A show of magical power is not the only strength a person can possess.”

            Hermione looked down at the table, ashamed, as he continued. “Molly loves, and cares deeply. She is a powerful witch, but even more importantly, a strong woman. Because she nurtures, is she weak? You have just made the same mistake Voldemort and his followers do time and time again: mistake love as a weakness. When really, it is our capacity for love that separates us from him, and will undo him in the end.”

            Hermione sneaked a glance up at Dumbledore to see his eyes were shining like blue flames. She looked back down again, guilty, as she tried to understand his words. “But…he exploits us for that very reason. Has leverage over all of us by using the people we care about. How is that not a weakness?”

            Dumbledore’s expression softened, his rebuke over. “Because he assumes everyone is like him, incapable of love. It is a curious blind spot of his, and one we can exploit as well. Now, Hermione, please tell me Molly Weasley did not lose her home in vain.”

            Hermione reached into the inner lining of her cloak and pulled out an indestructible wooden box, sealed with magic. Dumbledore tapped his wand at the clasp and then opened it to reveal a large, chunky ring with a strange stone set in the band. Dumbledore sucked in a breath as the ring seemed to rattle, disturbed by his presence.

            “It…it _hisses_ ,” Hermione said, disturbed to her core. Dumbledore’s fingers stretched above the ring, his curiosity getting the better of him. Before he could make contact with his bare skin, Hermione warned, “I wouldn’t attempt to wear it. If it is what you say, then certainly there must be a curse on it.”

            Dumbledore seemed to remember himself and withdrew his fingers, using his wand to lift up the heavy ring instead, so he could inspect it closer. “Once again, I believe you are correct. Salazar Slytherin would ensure no one but his own blood would be able to possess his ring unpunished.”

            The ring rattled again, and they could hear the hissing issuing forth from it. Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed and a curious mixture of loathing and triumph passed across his face. “It is not hissing, Hermione. It is _speaking_.”

            She almost physically withdrew from the dark magical object. “What is it saying?”

            “I cannot say for certain, as I do not speak Parseltongue. But it must be destroyed as soon as possible.”


	11. Chapter 11

 

            The Order of the Phoenix had been attacked, one of their safe houses destroyed. However, one of the Dark lord’s magical wards had been breached. His response that night had been…mixed.

            Luckily, Severus escaped the Dark lord’s ire that night, as he had led the successful part of the night’s mission. Instead, he was sent to the property that had been invaded in question to investigate how the ward had been broken. Severus left, eagerly, leaving the tortured screams of his comrades behind.

            It was a ramshackle house in the middle of nowhere, far from the outskirts of an old muggle town. If anything, it looked like a squatter’s residence, and Severus’ nose wrinkled at the smell that came from inside. It had been abandoned and neglected for a long time. Old, dried, desiccated snake skins hung from the walls and rats scurried underneath his feet. Despite the visible poverty of the dwelling, Severus saw enough evidence to clue him in that this was once a wizard’s home.

            Severus murmured an incantation, chanting it continuously under his breath, as he scanned the property and the wards. Curiously, they were still intact. Severus had arrived assuming, as the Dark lord had, that someone had broken the enchantment. Instead, there was a far subtler magic at work. Someone had _confunded_ the ward into thinking they were allowed in.

            A powerful charm such as that would still have left a trace. Severus carefully scanned every corner of the house to see where the weakness in the ward was now. He followed the fabric of magic surrounding him, and it led him to a tiny bedroom. He opened the door to reveal what looked like a woman’s bedroom, though the furnishings were sparse. There was a tiny flowerpot on the windowsill of the room, though it was bare.

            Severus frowned as he picked up the pot. His diagnostic spell was telling him this was where the weakest point of the ward was. Suddenly, as if awoken by his touch, a small sprout began to unfurl in the flowerpot. Severus raised his wand, dropping the pot as if it had burned him, ready to protect himself against a booby-trap.

            The sprout continued to grow at an accelerated pace until it grew a small bud, and that bud yawned open into a beautiful, white lily blossom.

            Severus staggered back and fell to his knees, his wand clattering from nerveless fingers. The delicate lily flower was the only living, beautiful thing in the otherwise dank and desolate house, and its presence made him feel like iron bands were wrapped around his chest and squeezing tight.

            _Lily_ …

            Even though it was probably a stupid thing to do, he finally inched his way forward towards the pot and plucked the flower. It lay still and harmless in the palm of his hand. He looked at it curiously, and then waved his wand over it. A beautiful piece of magic, and…triggered by his magical presence. It would not have grown for any wizard or witch who entered the room. So it was a message. For him alone.

            _Has Dumbledore finally decided to use you in the field? Are we now two opposing pawns on this chessboard of war?_

_Is this the only communion we are now allowed to have?_

_Lily, I will take it. If we are meant to be rivals, so be it, at least we are meant together for something._

He carefully tucked the bloom into the inner linings of his robes and left the house, a smothered feeling growing in his chest that he did not know yet was hope.

***

            The ring lay on the floor, the stone in its centre cracked in half.

            Hermione lay down a few feet from it, completely exhausted, her entire body trembling. Dumbledore was somewhere nearby, not much better off. She almost sobbed with relief when she heard Fawkes’ birdsong as he came to them, his pearly tears dripping onto their faces and allowing warmth to slowly seep back into her body.

            “That…” she said in a cracked voice, “…that was bloody awful.”

            “I could not have put it better myself.”

            Hermione managed to get up on an elbow, and with effort sat with her back against the wall. She helped Dumbledore into an upright position as well. “Even a fragment of his soul…it was so horrible, so powerful…”

            “But it is done.”

            Hermione looked at him, pleading. “Please, not tonight. You need to re-gather your strength.”

            Dumbledore rose to his feet, though he could not hide the slight tremble in his hand from her. “I am feeling stronger and more purposeful now than I have in many years. The war ends tonight. Keep everyone safe.”

            Before she could cry out or grab his sleeve, Dumbledore clapped his hands above his head and he and Fawkes both disappeared with a loud ‘ _crack!_ ’.

            Molly found Hermione sobbing, openly and unashamedly, in the room a few moments later. When she asked her what was wrong, Hermione could only say over and over, “He’s gone to kill him…he’s gone to end things…”

            To her heartbreak, and to the shattered morale of the Order members, the war did not end that night.

            They were all eerily silent, sitting, pacing or staring out the window of 12 Grimmauld Place. Unsure of how to feel or what to think. Time seemed to have no place in that house. Hermione was like a statue, though inside she was humming and buzzing with a nervous anticipation she had never experienced before.

            She finally had too much. She left the kitchens, where everyone had gathered, and went to the room Dumbledore used as his office. There, on his desk, she saw his DeLuminator. Absently, she clicked it on and off, a ball of light zooming from one of the lamps in the room and into the silver device.

            She clicked it again and heard a voice. Faint. Weak. Dying. “…Hermione…”

            All the blood drained from her face and Hermione wondered if she was going insane. Suddenly wondering if any of this was real, this war, magic, these other people - but almost of its own accord her thumb clicked the DeLuminator again and the ball of light went straight to her chest. She could _feel_ Dumbledore’s presence around her, inside of her, and she knew what to do. She brought up her wand, spun on her heel and disapparated with a ‘ _pop!_ ’.

            Hermione reappeared in the middle of a windswept field. Stumbling, half-blinded by the stinging winds, she somehow managed to find his slumped figure in the long grass. Hermione took a firm grasp of his arm, waiting only a moment as weak, out of his mind, he still gathered a mound of ashes into his hands, and then she disapparated them away. She brought Dumbledore back home.

            She did not know how they made it back. She did not know how he had escaped the battle, though because Fawkes was dead she knew it must have been by the skin of his teeth. Dumbledore was half-raving, in pain, weakened, tortured and riddled with dark curses that would have killed a lesser wizard. The other Order members were in complete shock when they reappeared, stunned, before they sprung into action to try and save Dumbledore’s life. Everyone kept themselves busy, unable to face the crushing realization that they had lost again.

            Dumbledore did not seem to know where he was until Hermione gently touched his hands. He then deposited the mound of ashes, and the bald frail form of a baby phoenix, into her hands. He looked at her with wild eyes, sharply lined with pain, and in a hoarse voice he croaked, “He has another…he has another…”

            Hands held him down on the table as he struggled, Lily coaxing potions down his throat and someone yelling for a messenger to alert Poppy Pomfrey. _He has another_ … Hermione cradled the baby phoenix in her hands, stroking the tiny vessel of life and reincarnation, and thought how wonderful and terrible immortality could be.

***

            “Is it possible there is a new agent in the field?”

            Severus considered his next words carefully. He could not lie to his master, but he did not want to expose Lily too openly. Really, the wisest course of action for him would be to be completely forthright, but part of him wanted a secret just for himself alone.

            “I believe the existing Order is escalating their actions.”

            Voldemort waved him aside as he paced the length of the hallway, Nagini resting in large coils around his bare feet. “No…no, the children of the Order have finally grown up. That old fool has a new generation to sacrifice.”

            “The magic at work was highly advanced, I doubt a new wizard would have been able to perform it. Only someone experienced and powerful-“

            “The Potter boy…” Voldemort interrupted, his thin nostrils flaring.

            Severus was taken aback. “My lord? Why him?”

            Voldemort stood in front of one of the large windows in the hallway and stroked the glass contemplatively as he observed the moonlight outside. “He has the pedigree. Son of a pureblood wizard. One who has defied me three times.”

            Severus had to hide his alarm, falling in behind the Dark lord. He did not believe the Dark lord was correct in assuming one of the new Order members had tricked his wards, but this assumption was still painting a target right on Lily. “But he is a Half-blood, my lord. If you suspect one of the new generation, then would it not be the Weasley boy? A Pureblood wizard?”

            Voldemort smirked at him. “You would disparage your own blood parentage?” Severus hung his head in shame, frightened he had said too much, but the Dark lord was in a benevolent mood. “The drowning rat does not know it is already dead, but it fights the most viciously. The Potter boy is dangerous, precisely because he is a Half-blood. Just as you are, just as…”

            Severus glanced up curiously to Voldemort’s face, and then cast his eyes quickly down again when he saw the flash of anger pass the Dark lord’s face. Voldemort ended his sentence with, “…that ragtag band of misfits Albus so loves…” but with a thumping heart Severus suspected the Dark lord had almost ended his sentence another way. The fact that he was witness to the most rare of mistakes the Dark lord made had Severus fear instantly his life was forfeit.

            Voldemort ran a pale, bony hand over his smooth head, his face unreadable. “It matters not. Dumbledore _miscalculated_. He did not realize that I was already ten steps ahead of him. The old fool!”

            The Dark lord’s hand curled into a fist, resembling a cage made of bones. “He managed to slip away before I could crush him completely. But he is severely weakened, and I think, will never regain his full strength again. Our next encounter will be his last.”

            “Then…” Severus felt oddly conflicted, he wasn’t sure if he was eager or dreading the Dark lord’s answer. “…is this not the perfect time to strike?”

            “ _Yesss_ ,” Voldemort hissed triumphantly, his slit eyes gleaming with a manic joy. “I have already called everyone to the manor. We will strike every outpost, every safe house, every location where the Order has ever dared set foot. But you, Severus, you have a different task tonight.”

            Voldemort waved his wand in the air and produced a shimmering map. Severus obediently looked towards it, committing it to memory. “I have other properties, other artifacts, which will need to be transported to safer locations. And remember, my slippery friend, that your discretion for this is bought…”

            “…with my life, my lord.”

***

            Dumbledore’s condition was finally stable, though he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Poppy Pomfrey had tried administering Dreamless Sleep potion, but he insisted that he would suffer through some of the pain to keep his wits about him. Hermione had created a small nest out of her wool scarf and put it on the bedside table, so Fawkes could be near by his oldest friend.

            “I need…Horace…”

            “Slughorn?” Hermione asked, and Dumbledore nodded with some difficulty.

            “His memories…use Lily…”

            Hermione nodded, she understood, and left the room.

            She gathered her cloak about her and was striding to the hallway when Sirius caught her shoulder. He shook his head in warning. “All of London is burning tonight, Hermione. Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley - every wizarding population is being raided and ransacked by the Death Eaters. They’re out in full force. You’ll never make it through all of that.”

            She quirked an eyebrow upward and in a curious tone she said, “I’m the only one of us who can,” before gently shaking loose his arm and walking out the door.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

            “Please, professor, we’ve suffered terribly these past few nights. Dumbledore thinks this is important, or else he wouldn’t have gone after Voldemort himself. He almost died-“

            Horace blew out an irritated breath, cradling his head in his hand. “Lily, please! I’ve told you, as I’ve told Albus many times before - _that is what happened_.”

            He fell back into the chair, exhausted. Lily had pleaded and cajoled with him for over an hour. Hermione stood by, looking down into Dumbledore’s Pensieve and Slughorn’s memory swirling around in it, of the night Tom Riddle had asked him about Horcruxes. The memory was muddy, black and too viscous. She prodded at it gently with her wand.

            “So his name was Tom Riddle,” she quietly said, surprising the other two people in the room who had forgotten she was there.

            “Yes,” Slughorn said carefully, “When he was a student at Hogwarts.”

            “A student of yours,” Hermione said, emphasizing her distinction and caused Slughorn to frown.

            Lily looked to Slughorn again, her almond-shaped green eyes piercing into his, and she grasped his hand. “You know, it’s a real shame Harry never went to Hogwarts. That he couldn’t have had a normal life as a student there, to have taken your classes, to have had only the normal worries a teenager has of exams, trips to Hogsmeade and schoolyard crushes.”

            Slughorn smiled awkwardly at her. “I’m sure he would have excelled in my class.”

            “Not if he took after James,” Lily laughed, then let the smile fade from her face. “But that isn’t the world he was born into. My son has been born to die. I want him to inherit a different life. Please…help me.”

            Slughorn looked like he was on the verge of tears, his face twisting into an ugly mask of grief, guilt, regret and a hundred other emotions. He squeezed Lily’s hand back, his voice thick and clumsy. “I’m…I’m sorry, my dear, oh precious Lily…I so wish I could…”

            Lily hung her head, real tears beginning to form in her eyes now as she tasted bitter defeat. Perhaps Dumbledore and Hermione had gotten it wrong. Slughorn was telling her the truth, they had just reached a dead end. All of her fears of what the future held for her son and her family, which she normally kept at bay, had all bubbled up to the surface again.

            A calm voice broke through the room.

            “All right. That’s enough.”

            Hermione strode over, rolling up her shirt sleeves, as she drew out her wand. She touched a hand to Lily’s shoulder. “Go get some rest. I’ll take it from here.”

            “What?” Lily rubbed her eyes. “He can’t tell us anymore, Hermione-“

            “Go,” Hermione said in a kind, but firm voice. “It’ll be fine.”

            Lily got to her feet, exhaustion finally catching up with her. Slughorn looked from Lily to Hermione, and began to panic. “Lily, don’t leave me with her. Please, stay.”

            Hermione was already ushering Lily out the door, reassuring her that it would be fine, and she was just going to keep watch. Once Lily had left and the door was shut firmly behind her, Hermione locked it. She turned to face Slughorn, all gentleness gone from her face, leaving only a determination to get the job done.

            “Please, bring Lily back, I’ll talk to her, please-“

            Hermione raised her wand. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. _Legilimens!_ ”

 

***

 

            Dumbledore awoke later that afternoon, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight. He felt warm hands help him sit upright and knew, even without being able to see her yet, that Hermione was at his bedside. He murmured a thanks, reaching for the bedside table to slip his half-moon spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. He saw Fawkes, still looking a little shriveled and not completely ‘dried-out’, but already growing some red down, and he tickled the underside of the baby phoenix’s beak.

            He froze when he saw the crystal vial beside Fawkes’ makeshift nest, a silvery memory swirling inside of it. His eyes snapped up to Hermione and she nodded.

            “How?” He asked, but then heard the broken sobs of a man somewhere in the house. He looked to Hermione curiously and she merely shrugged.

            “He wouldn’t acquiesce for Lily. So I had to break in.” She saw the disturbed note in Dumbledore’s eyes and added, “He’ll be fine. He was just a little stubborn.”

            There wasn’t any time to question her actions, and it would just spin him as a hypocrite, so Dumbledore gestured urgently to her. “Quick, the Pensieve.” Hermione summoned it from the other room, and Dumbledore set it in his lap and poured in Slughorn’s memory.

            It began much the same as the tampered recollection, but as it continued to unfold the true direction the conversation those many years ago took, it made all the difference in the world.

            “Seven…”

            Dumbledore closed his eyes, feeling so very tired. “There are seven…”

            Hermione was similarly stunned into silence. In this quiet sickroom only two individuals really knew the enormity of what it would take to end the war. It was a lonely vigil.

            “So, one piece that resides in his body, one we destroyed in Slytherin’s ring…that leaves five.”

            Dumbledore sighed, inwardly cursing the clarity of hindsight. “Why didn’t I see it before? The snake. His familiar, I would bet my life it is one of the six.”

            Hermione’s eyes widened as her mouth curled in disgust. “You can make a horcrux out of a _living_ being?”

            “It would explain her unusual level of sentience and his absolute control over her.” He fell back onto the pillows, still so weak. “But as to the others, I can only speculate.”

            He felt hopeless, and the swiftly darkening mood in the room seemed as if it had no turning point. But with great effort, Hermione tried to smile and placed her hand on his arm. “I think the both of us are smart enough to figure it out. Four to discover, five to destroy…then kill Voldemort too. Come on, Albus, that’s not such a large task. If we fail, it’s only the end of the world.”

            He saw the curious, quirky grin around her face and joined her in a peal of much-needed laughter.

 

THREE YEARS LATER

***

 

            “The transmissions are coming from in there,” Severus said as he drew his hooded cloak tighter around his frame.

            Beside him, Rabastan LeStrange lunged forward and Severus had to grab him by the robes and pull him back forcefully. “ _Hold_ , you fool!”

            “Get your hands off me, Half-blood.”

            Severus snarled in a low voice, “This Half-blood was put in charge of this mission by the Dark lord himself, because he knew your bull-headed ways would bungle everything. If you charge in there wand blasting you’ll give them an opportunity to scatter. We want them _alive_ , for interrogation. Now, take the left flank and enter from the back. I will take the side entrance.”

            Rabastan had a mutinous look on his face, but mention of the Dark lord’s name was enough to make him comply. He moved around the side of the Hog’s Head pub and Severus slunk around to the side.

            Severus waited a moment, pressing his ear to the door. He could still hear the hushed voices inside, transmitting news into the secret Wizarding Wireless channel that the Order used to communicate. He held up three fingers, lowering one at a time as he silently counted down, and when he reached a closed fist, he and Rabastan burst into the pub.

            “ _Stupefy!_ ”

            “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

            Severus side-stepped the Killing curse, and it blasted a chair apart. Furious, he rounded on Rabastan. “What part of keeping them _alive_ , do you fail to comprehend!”

            Rabastan snorted and spat onto the ground. “There’s no one here anyway, save your breath, Snape.”

            Severus took in the empty pub to see that Rabastan was right. There was a radio transmitter in the middle of a table, the source of the voices, but otherwise the building was abandoned. Severus spat out an ugly word, before striding over to the transmitter. He picked it up and examined it carefully.

            “What do we do now?”

            Severus tapped his wand to the device, sensing a breakable ward. “Return to the Dark lord and tell him it was a feint. I am going to attempt to make contact, but I will have to work quickly.”

            The device was still transmitting the hoax, but Severus could still sense a magical presence about it. That was the only way this ploy could have lured him to this particular location. If the radio had been bewitched into repeating a recorded transmission, there would not have been an active magical channel he could track. So, this transmission was still happening live somewhere, and they had left him perhaps the only means of which he could discern their true location.

            Rabastan watched Severus hunched over the radio muttering and completely ignoring him. He shook his head in disgust, the little freak was always experimenting with something, and disapparated to give his abbreviated report to the Dark lord. Severus was too wrapped up in his new toy to be of much use for the moment.

            Severus tried a tracking spell, but as he suspected the device was warded against that. Of course, that would have been too simple. Perhaps if he turned the radio into a portkey and managed to tie its destination with the original source of the magic…

            He was alone in the room and did not realize that he was smiling. His mind was firing on all cylinders and even though he was under an enormous amount of pressure to find a solution quickly, he was caught up in the thrill of a _real challenge_. One that required all of his knowledge, wit and quick thinking. The other simpletons that called themselves ‘Death Eaters’ would never understand or be able to appreciate that the majority of this war was being fought in intrigue. They thought they could blast Killing curses or other flashy spells the Dark lord had taught them and that a show of brute strength was what kept them in power.

            _Fools. Some things never change._

            For the past few years Severus had been on the most exciting hunt of his life. He was locked in a battle of wills and cunning with a witch just as clever and powerful as he was, and he had never met a rival so evenly matched. Step, counter-step, and they were always just a hair’s width away from ruining the other.

            “…will be moving safe houses now on a bi-monthly basis… _passengers for the eleven o’clock, please divert your travel route to a replacement train now boarding at Platform Seven…_ ”

            Severus’ eyes widened as he heard the chimes of an announcer in the background of the transmission. _King’s Cross Station_.

            _Sloppy, Lily. Very sloppy_.

            With a whirl of his cloak, he disapparated.

            Severus reemerged in a sea of bodies, muggles crowded around him as they went about their daily commute. He knew the station’s layout well, and immediately headed towards the direction of one of the communication offices, up on the gang-walk above the trains. It was close to a speaker where the announcement would have been audible in the background, and it was secluded and away from prying eyes.

            There was a small window that peered into the inside of the office. Narrowing his eyes he could see a figure hunched inside and speaking into a radio. The figure suddenly turned to look out the window and saw him.

            _Blast!_

            Severus broke into a run, shoving people out of his way. He scurried up the ladder that took him up to the gang-walk as quickly as possible, but already saw a figure bursting out the door of the office and running across the beams, a wave of brown bushy hair flying behind it. He steadied himself against the rail and fired a non-verbal curse at the girl, but obeying some primal instinct she fired a golden shield spell behind her.

            Severus made it onto steady ground, but she was already gone.

            He raged silently, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but his fists trembled as he fought down the urge to punch something. He stepped inside the communications office and slammed the door shut.

            This was not the first time he had seen this witch. A young woman of fairly average height and looks, her one distinguishing feature being that horrendously bushy mane. She must have been left behind to man the radio, another feint. Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Lily was too clever to be caught in-person by him, though he hunted her relentlessly hoping that one day he might just make it in time. Always just missing her. Always being thrown a red (or rather, brown-haired) herring instead.

            There was a note beside the radio, rolled around the stem of a lily. Even if it weren’t for the flower, he would have known immediately who it was from by the familiar penmanship on the scrap of parchment. It read: _You’ll have to do better than that._

            It was almost as if she wasn’t eager for a reunion. Severus laughed bitterly to himself in the solitude of the office, knowing it was the only alternative to being crippled underneath the mountain of shame he carried with him.


	13. Chapter 13

            “So, you made contact with the new agent?”

            “Yes, my lord.” Severus let out a noise of frustration. “It was another trick.”

            Voldemort nodded in understanding, his words measured as he evaluated the situation. “The Order is weakened, and Dumbledore would not risk the lives of his followers in a more direct confrontation. So they have resorted to subterfuge, stealth and sabotage. Coward’s tactics.”

            Severus bit his tongue against any retort of the veiled insult against the line of work he was in, and that the Dark lord had picked him out for. Instead, his frustrations focused again on this unknown witch. “Where has she come from? She is expendable as they keep using her as a distraction while their more senior operatives can make escape, but she has annoyingly managed to make her own get-away each time.”

            Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. “Another one of Dumbledore’s strays, he probably found her in a trash heap.”

            “She keeps _getting in my way_ ,” Severus snarled, forgetting himself.

            Voldemort cast him a curious look, and Severus cast his eyes to the ground. He had made too public a display of his emotions and was embarrassed by his outburst. Severus quickly locked down his mental barricades so that the Dark lord would not be able to know the real reason Severus was so frustrated by this witch who kept him from his ultimate goal.

            Severus was prepared to be punished for his obscene display, but today Voldemort was more amused by his spy’s venting than annoyed. He still warned, “It is unseemly for you to be so upset by such a little slip of a girl, Severus.”

            Severus nodded and when he was dismissed, he quickly left the Dark lord’s presence. As he made his way out of the manor, the Dark lord’s parting words kept turning over in his mind.

            _A little slip of a girl…_

            Severus’ brow knitted together as the answer slowly formed in his mind. _Surely not_ …

            Perhaps he did know who this latest misfit was after all.

 

***

 

            “Cuppa?”

            Hermione looked up briefly and nodded to Harry, who placed down a fresh cup of tea and took away her un-touched mug. Hermione was poring over dozens of books, issues of the _Daily Prophet_ , and had a ream of parchment with her own notes by her elbow.

            Harry laughed, “It’s almost like you never stopped your lessons.”

            Hermione smiled at him, but then zeroed in back to her work. It wasn’t glamorous, but the reality of intelligence work was that most of it was research, research and more research. Something Hermione was all too familiar with.

            She had been reading with an intense focus for well over five hours now, and the texts from her books were beginning to swim in front of her eyes. Hermione decided to take a little break and pulled out the day’s issue of the _Daily Prophet_ , and reached for the cup of tea Harry had brought her. The front headline was amusing enough: _Terrorist Organization Order of the Phoenix Targeting Your Children!_ The article continued on, with many exclamation points - a telltale sign this was Rita Skeeter’s work - to describe how the insidious terrorist group abducted children from their homes and brainwashed them into acting as kamikaze operatives. Your very own children could be turned against you! Practice these safety measures and report any incidents to the Ministry of Magic, or Albus Dumbledore was going to steal your children and turn them into soldiers in his army.

            Hermione smirked and thought to herself: _well, it didn’t quite unfold in that manner for me_ …

            She flipped through the paper to read up on the current events, as told from the perspective of the enemy, when she noticed two of the page numbers didn’t correspond. She thought it must have been a misprint, except that she flipped to another page and there was another errant number.

            Hermione could have ignored it, but her curiosity was already piqued. Anyone else would have said she was reading too much into this, but it was her job to leave no stone unturned. Hermione copied down the numbers: 12, 3, 94. What could it mean? The number ninety-four ruled out a date, and it also ruled out basic alpha-numeric code. Could they be coordinates?

            Hermione searched through the rest of the _Prophet_ , hoping to find some clues. The majority of the paper was its usual pile of drivel and brainless propaganda, and then the obligatory crossword.

            _The crossword_.

            Grabbing her quill, Hermione pored through the clues and busily began to fill them out. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for exactly, so she methodically went in order.

            Twelve Down: A Potioneer’s Publication.

            Hermione scribbled in “A-R-S-A-L-C-H-E-M-I-C” and threw her quill down, rushing to grab her mail. She stopped, ran back to the paper and filled in the last “A” because it did not do to leave a puzzle unfinished, then ran for the mail again.

            She ripped through her packages of journals and publications and pulled out the newest issue of _Ars Alchemica_ , Volume Twelve, Issue Three. She eagerly flipped to page ninety-four to find a rather banal article on the different benefits of cauldrons made from various materials by an “S. Prince”. Hermione skimmed through the essay, quite short at just three pages, and wondered why anyone would ever care about the minutiae on why pewter-bottomed cauldrons would always be superior to copper-bottoms.

            This author was horrible, their writing style was at once mediocre and absolutely tedious, and it was as if they were trying to beat or strangle their sentences away from a more natural flow, so they could employ their own bizarre compendium of favourite words.

            Hermione’s eyebrow rose upward and she slowly reached for her quill. It was a code. After a few false starts, Hermione began to unearth the real message by skipping a specific number of words that followed a pattern of prime numbers.

            _Unlike. You. To. Use. A. Lack. Key._ (She rewrote “Lackey” in the margin) _In. Your. Place. Spare. The. Cast. Off_ (“cast-off”). _Next. Time. Just. Equals._

            Hermione let out a deep breath she had been holding in when her decryption was done. This message was personal, very personal. And, Hermione would bet her life on it, something Severus Snape had done independently without the knowledge of Voldemort.

            Hermione quickly drafted a letter to the publisher of _Ars Alchemica_ to formally request her submission be published in the next issue, along with the appropriate bribe to be taken out of the usual Gringott’s account.

            The game had begun in earnest now.

 

***

 

            _The Proper Treatment and Storage of Live Ingredients To Prolong Their Effectiveness_ …Severus’ eyes skimmed through, slightly bored, until they landed on the sub-heading: “ _Live Wildflowers Vs. Dried_ ” and was rewarded even further as his eyes landed on the passage: “ _In Regards To The Water-Lily_ ”.

            He hunched over his copy of the potions journal, the tip of his nose almost touching the page. There was no certainty that his bait had worked, though he did not doubt Lily’s ability to discover it, and even less certainty that she would respond. But he had waited those few weeks for the next _Ars Alchemica_ with an anxiety so consuming he had slept very little and dark circles had formed underneath his eyes.

            She had not used a skip code as he had, but a more complex cipher that it took him the better part of a joyous hour decoding.

            _The lily is in want of care._

            _The li-ly is in want of care_.

            _The LIly IS in WAnt of CARE._

Poetic meter. Soon the passage on water lilies was filled with various markings as Severus noted each rhythmic foot and stress. When he was done it looked very much like a spreadsheet of music, and he inwardly chuckled to himself.

            _Tsk, tsk, Lily, you cannot switch so haphazardly between iambic and a disyllabic meter._

            Had they ever discussed muggle poetry when they were younger? It had been so many years ago that Severus could only remember fondly the nights they had stayed up talking, debating, arguing about any subject under the sun. He could remember how cold the night air became as they stayed out later, how large the moon was in the sky, but his memory waned as he tried to recollect what exactly they spoke so enthusiastically of, or even how she looked back then.

            He began to copy down the letters that composed a stress, until he saw it was nothing but gibberish. He then switched over to the unstressed foot and, save for a few errant letters here and there, a sentence began to form that made sense.

            His heart twisted bitterly as he saw what Lily had written for him. What she must have spent a significant amount of time in composing, in burying in secret, in transcribing in a complicated and cruel poetry so that only he could know its meaning.

            _I-A-M-N-O-T-T-H-E-C-O-W-A-R-D_.

            Severus flung the parchment away and reached for his wand. An immolation spell was forming on his lips as he hovered between destroying her missive or saving it. Finally, in a tense moment only he was participant and witness to he lowered his wand. He tidied his papers together, and tucked it away onto the one bookshelf in his otherwise empty bolt-hole.

            A part of him was grateful of this stinging reminder that they were still on opposite sides of a war. Perhaps too much time had passed that he would ever have her respect. But it was still within his power to show her, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was no coward.

 

***

 

            “Here, make sure they’re snug over your head.” Ron helped fit the headphones over Luna Lovegood’s ears, and she gave him a thumb’s up sign. He watched her a little hesitantly as she started bobbing her head to the wizarding wireless channel they were monitoring, and wondered if he should have relinquished her shift to her. She and her father were a new addition to the Order, and while Ron could see that having _The Quibbler_ as an underground publication had its benefits, he thought the two of them were positively barmy.

            “Ron, give us a hand!” Fred stomped into the kitchen, struggling with a load of crates.

            “And an ear, if you can spare it.” George followed in behind his twin, similarly loaded with cargo.

            Ron rolled his eyes and ran over to help them bring in the shipment. “That was getting old after the first year. Give it a bloody rest.”

            Once the brothers had lugged in all the crates, Fred started opening them up to see what was inside. Ron sifted through the contents of a crate and pulled out some unmarked jars. Confused, he twisted the lid to see a black powder inside.

            “Don’t touch that unless you want us all blind in a few seconds,” Fred warned, “It’s Peruvian Darkness Powder.”

            Ron screwed the lid back onto the jar and placed it back into the crate. “Seems useful. Where did you get it? It’s not like you strolled into a shop and placed an order.”

            Fred and George stole a glance at each other, then back to their younger brother. In a hushed voice, George said, “Not a word to mum, but…” and Fred continued, “…we might have found a way to divert some shipments coming in to the Department of Mysteries…”

            “Bloody hell.”

            George winked. “With ‘Dung’s help. He’s a crafty one.”

            There was suddenly a peal of laughter coming from the other end of the kitchen and the Weasley men turned in unison to see Luna Lovegood giggling and clapping her hands together in delight. She finally noticed the undue attention she was receiving and pointed to the headphones by way of explanation.

            “It sounds like a happy robot.”

            “What’s a robot?” George asked, and Fred just shrugged his shoulders.

            Ron came over and tapped her on the shoulder. “Pass that, please?” She took off the headphones and handed them over to him, so Ron could hear what exactly was transmitting over the wireless channel that had her so delighted. He heard a series of blank tones, some short, some long, all rapidly firing that it sounded like a series of high-pitched ‘clicks’.

            “What is it, Ronnie?” George asked.

            Ron frowned in concentration as he listened to the odd transmission. Something at the back of his mind was telling him he knew what this was, that this was familiar in a way…

            His eyebrows shot up into his hairline when he realized what it was. “Get Hermione! It’s that muggle code, what’s it called? Morris? Morris code?”

            The twins left the kitchen to go hunt for Hermione, and Ron pressed the headphones against his ears so he could hear the tones more clearly. Luna tugged politely on his sleeve and handed him a quill. “You should write it down.”

            He looked at her askance and she patiently continued, “Because it might stop.”

            “Right.” Ron grabbed the quill and began marking the dining table. He struggled to keep up with the rapid ‘clicks’, but managed to record an approximation of the long and short tones with dashes.

            Hermione came into the kitchen a few moments later and he urgently waved her over to take the headphones. Soon they had switched positions and Hermione continued recording the transmission, using a series of dot’s and dashes. Ron watched the growing markings curiously, and noticed that after a certain segment they began to repeat.

            Luna pulled out a second quill and began to scribble above the lines of markings, filling in their corresponding letter. Ron watched her in surprise. “You know Morris code?”

            Luna shrugged as she continued to fill in the message. “No, but I do know Morse code.”

            Hermione held up a finger, silently asking them to be quiet so she could continue to concentrate. She was still jotting down the mixture of long and short tones, her hand almost working automatically, when her eyes skimmed over what Luna was transcribing and the colour drained from her face.

            L-I-A-A-U-S-T-R-A-L-I-A-A-U-S-T-R-A-L-I-A

            The quill in her hand trembled a little as she jotted down the next series of tones and then stopped. She sat frozen for a moment, before pulling the headphones off and murmuring, “It stopped. It’s done.”

            Ron gestured to the letters Luna was filling in and quietly asked Hermione, “Is she right?” and Hermione nodded, unable to speak.

            A-U-S-T-R-A-L-I-A

            Luna tilted her head at the last section Hermione had just recorded and began inking in different letters.

            O-L-L-I-V-A-N-D-E-R

            Hermione sat at the table, stunned. Ron could sense it meant a great deal more to her than it did to him, as he couldn’t make sense of the message. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and asked, “What does it mean, Hermione?”

            Hermione was still lost somewhere in her own thoughts, her lips moving slightly but her voice unable to finish the words she was trying to form.

            Luna leaned against the dining table, surveying her work, and spoke in an airy voice as if the answer was obvious and Ron was silly for missing it. “Somebody wants to meet her at Ollivander’s shop, of course. It’s probably a trap and she shouldn’t go. But she will.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

            It was late afternoon and the sun was still shining brightly outside, but very little of its light penetrated the dim and dusty shop. Ollivander had long since fled and abandoned his store in Diagon Alley, though it was suspected that he was still making wands and operating somewhere in secret.

            Severus stood by one of the high shelves, empty save for layers of dust and mouse droppings, keeping vigil like a statue in the shadows. He had laid a trap for a queen, though it involved first ensnaring a pawn, and when the shop door creaked open he knew it was dutifully marching across the board as ordered. Ready to be sacrificed at his feet.

            “ _Stupefy!_ ”

            “ _Protego!_ ”

            His Stunning spell harmlessly bounced across the shop, firing into the ceiling and letting loose a layer of dust onto the floor. The young witch stood before him, her wand warm trembling slightly, as he emerged from the darkness.

            “So they taught you how to wield a wand.”

            She was silent, her face pale, as she maintained a defensive pose.

            Severus lowered his wand, casually crossing his arms against his chest and stepping forward. She took a step back as he drew closer to her, invading her space. He saw a stubborn look cross her features as she realized he was bullying her with a silent show of power and she held her ground, raising her wand a little higher.

            He smirked. “I’m afraid the little courage you have won’t be enough to save you in the end. I remember you.”

            Her eyes narrowed and he saw a flash of hatred in them. He had her right where he wanted her and he continued with a triumphant sneer. “Though I’m sure your recollections of that night are far clearer than mine. It wasn’t my life that was upended that day.”

            An ugly look twisted on her face and Severus had his wand raised before the curse could even pass her lips.

            “ _Confrin_ -“

            “ _Expelliarmus_.”

            She deflected at the last second, managing to keep her wand. Severus began to circle her, forcing her to turn with him so she wouldn’t leave her side exposed. He considered the young witch in front of him, having learnt so much about her in just that moment.

            She had some skill in dueling that her innocent face belied. Enough to know footwork, and to rely on her good reflexes. But she was a defensive fighter, always waiting for her opponent to make the first move. So she was a cautious witch, always observing, wanting to be afar rather than in the thick of things. An isolated girl, shy, socially awkward. Her personality shone through in her battle tactics.

            But when he baited her, she chose _that_ spell? Why not punish him? Why not savage him completely? Perhaps he had not pushed her to her breaking point yet.

            “Have you ever gone to see them? See their comfortable life without you, in a home completely stripped of your presence?” Her face hardened, and her eyes burned with a naked hatred. He laughed. “No? Perhaps that spared you then, to see how content and happy they are with their new son. Their only child.”

            He was lying between his teeth. He did not know her parents’ exact location and it was very possible she did not know either. He did know enough, that they had their memories altered, that they were somewhere in Australia, that he could twist a knife into her and the look of anguish on her face told him he had struck home.

            He slashed his wand in the air, forcing her to stagger back to evade him, and bellowed, “When the next raid hits their home and they’re torn apart by my colleagues, they won’t even know their crime was that they sired _you_.”

            She lunged forward recklessly, pointed her wand at him and screamed, “ _SECTUMSEMP-_ “

            Severus knocked her hand away, striding forward two steps and closing the distance between them completely. One hand wrapped around her throat, the other jabbing his wand to her temple, and he snarled a bare inch away from her face, “ _Not_. That. Spell.”

            Her wand clattered to the ground and she grasped his hand, trying to pry his fingers away from her throat. His black eyes bored into hers, and he did not even notice she was struggling on tiptoe. “Who taught you that spell? Was it something you heard during a duel? Do you even know it was my own creation you attempted to use against me?”

            Her face was completely red and her eyes were beginning to slip shut, so he eased his grip on her throat. She did not have the strength to wheeze, merely sucking in as much air as she could without coughing. He locked eyes with her again, forcing her to meet his gaze, and then plunged into her mind.

            Her memories came in disjointed flashes because she was under a large amount of stress and fear. But he saw flashes of the recorded Morse code and its translation on a wooden table, the inside of a bedroom, _Lily_ …

            Like a starving man, he chased down every memory of hers that contained the red-haired witch, plunging deeper into her mind like a man trying to swim to the bottom of the ocean. Lily in the kitchen. Lily in the gardens of the Burrow. Lily with James. Lily with her son, who was the spitting image of James. Except the eyes…she had given her son her eyes…

            Severus drew back slightly, closing his eyes momentarily as he regained his composure and reminded himself why he was here. He could replay these images when he was alone, and get drunk off regrets and bittersweet recollections another time. He leaned in, his lips so close to her ear that they almost tickled the outer shell.

            “If you care for your mentor’s life then tell her this: he knows. He knows what she found. He knows what she is looking for.”

            Severus stepped away from her, releasing her throat. She collapsed to her knees, gasping in air, one hand already searching for her missing wand. Severus regarded her coolly as he watched her struggle at his feet.

            “As for you…if you can accept when you’re outmatched, you may prolong your short life for a little while. Stand in my way again, and you will suffer for trying to go toe-to-toe with your superiors.”

            He spared one last glance at her frightened, tear-stained face and disappeared with a swirl of his black robes, only a storm of dust motes betraying he was ever there.

 

***

 

            Hermione counted slowly to ten to make sure Snape had truly left, before she picked herself up off the dusty floor. With the sleeve of her robe she wiped the tears from her eyes and in its place was a cool, calm mask. Gone were the sniffles, the panicked wide eyes and in its place was a calculating look.

            _Merlin, but the man is arrogant_.

            Severus Snape had thought he had the upper hand for their entire encounter, wanting to see a scared child trying to seek her revenge. Hermione had found it an easy role to play, as a small part of that was true. Though he was overconfident, he was still cautious and hadn’t shown too much of his hand.

            So he had discovered what happened to her parents, but had fabricated details of their lives. Hermione once knew where in Australia her parents had been relocated, but for their safety she had the memory removed. She did know, without a doubt, that they had not had any more children as her father had undergone a vasectomy when she was ten years old. The Grangers were a very practical family.

            So he was testing her, even when he thought he had her crushed underfoot. Still trying to glean information from her, see what her boundaries were. That level of redundancy in the way he operated was…chilling.

            When he began to choke her, Hermione had to fight every overwhelming fear that she was actually going to die in the wandmaker’s shop, and forced herself to look back into his eyes. This was the opportunity she had been hoping to gain for so long. No Death Eater would ever imagine that a muggleborn witch knew Legilimency or Occlumency, and as he hurtled through her mind, she had been scanning his.

            What she found was an impenetrable barrier. His defenses were locked down even tighter than her own. However, as she let her own memories of Lily come to the surface of her mind, so he had something to view, she noticed his defenses shimmer. They did not fall, but they softened as his own memories of Lily Potter came to his mind.

            A young Lily Evans and Severus Snape in their Hogwarts uniforms, sitting outside the Astronomy Tower at night, talking. The two of them sharing a workstation in Potions class, a hurled insult from a young James Potter causing the skinned toad in Snape’s shaking hand to fly across the room. James Potter and Sirius Black hounding Severus through the hallways of school, yelling “Snivellus! Snivellus!”

            When Snape saw a memory of Harry, Hermione saw the reflecting recollections in his mind: Snape pleading to Lily to join the Death Eaters, join or at least flee the country; Snape poring over the article in _Ars Alchemica_ at a bare desk; and then, bizarrely, Snape passing a smoking goblet to an old woman who had a hook-shaped nose, some bitterly exchanged words, and then him storming down a flight of stairs into a basement potions laboratory, shelves filled with carefully labeled ingredients and obscure texts.

            Hermione breathed evenly, almost in a meditative trance as she reviewed each memory, then filed it away for later use. Her eyes snapped open and she then considered the real intel she had gained that night.

            _He knows_. _He knows what she found. He knows what she is looking for_.


	15. Chapter 15

            “Why hasn’t he attacked us yet?”

            Dumbledore gazed down into the Pensieve, the memory of Snape’s whispered message playing out in its glowing depths. He looked up at Hermione. “What have you learned of our enemy and his agent tonight?”

            “That they are incredibly arrogant.”

            Dumbledore nodded, prodding the waters of the Pensieve and playing the memory again. “Voldemort _did_ attack us that night. We were lucky to have all been underground, so to speak, and to wait it out. So he learned then that we discovered the secret of his invincibility.”

            “But he must not think we know he created six horcruxes.”

            “That, or that we do not know the precise number,” Dumbledore concluded.

            Hermione watched the memory play out on loop, her mind turning. “But Snape knows…”

            “Voldemort is too secretive, too paranoid to let such a vulnerability of his be exposed,” Dumbledore said. “After our duel I do not doubt he placed his remaining horcruxes under a more secure watch, but he would not have revealed their true importance to his followers.”

            Hermione’s lips pursed into a frown as she continued to consider Snape’s face in the Pensieve. “But Snape knows. Voldemort must have entrusted some of the security to him. There’s no one who knows more about the Dark arts, or would have been able to see through Voldemort’s machinations. Snape would have figured it out. The Dark lord isn’t subtle enough to fool him.”

            Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at her. “Is that a touch of admiration I hear in your voice?”

            “No, merely duty,” Hermione answered. “You tasked me with getting to know him inside and out. His strengths, his weaknesses and the way he thinks. I have merely done my job, and I did it well.”

            “Ah. I stand rebuked.”

            Hermione looked up a little guiltily, she had not meant to sound so bitter. She continued her thoughts, though in a softer tone. “He meant this as a warning for Lily. To not pursue the horcruxes.”

            Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Can we trust his warning? Is he being sincere?”

            “No, and yes.” Hermione watched the memory for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I believe his concern for Lily’s safety is sincere. However, even in trying to warn her he would have laid contingencies in place. If she chooses to heed his words then not only is she out of danger, but he can continue to fulfill Voldemort’s request. If she chooses to ignore his warning, then she will be heading into an ambush, a situation he can control. So he _must_ know the location of the other horcruxes.”

            Dumbledore was silent and Hermione looked up to see an astonished and amused look upon his face. She shrugged and explained, “It’s what I would do.”

            “Do you have a plan for divining those secrets from Severus, without falling into said ambush?”

            Hermione simply said, “I’ll figure it out.”

            “Good. And then we will need to find a more viable way of destroying them.” Dumbledore bit back a silent groan as he eased himself out of his chair. Hermione came to his side and helped him up. Though he presented himself with a twinkle in his eye and good cheer around the other Order members, Hermione knew he was in constant pain and had to drink phoenix tears weekly. Since his disastrous duel with Voldemort, Dumbledore rarely left Order headquarters, only able to run their resistance efforts from a tactical standpoint.

            “Well, the only thing as destructive as Fiendfyre is Basilisk venom, or maybe Voldemort’s morning breath,” Hermione quipped as she helped Dumbledore to his feet. She froze when she saw a familiar twinkle in his eye and her mouth fell open. “You’re not seriously considering that. We can’t breed a basilisk in Sirius’ house!”

            “No, but kill one, perhaps…” Dumbledore saw the mortified look on Hermione’s face and patted her arm. “A discussion for another day.”

            Hermione helped him to the door and wondered if he would have known the identity of the old woman in Snape’s last memory flash. Hermione assumed it was his mother, but further than that and she did not understand the implications of the scene. Perhaps Dumbledore did, but…something made Hermione hold the memory back. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted a secret for herself.

            Almost as if the Pensieve could sense her musings, it began to replay another memory she had poured into it from her encounter with Snape. “ _Have you ever gone to see them? See their comfortable life without you, in a home completely stripped of your presence_?”

            Dumbledore halted at the door and Hermione froze, trapped by the recorded memory’s words. He looked at her and she could see he wanted to ask her the same question. She shook her head and a firm look in her eyes that told him she would not answer that question.

            He understood, though another query was still burning on his lips. “Do you forgive me for that day?”

            “Of course,” she said, though her words were hollow.

            “Please, do not do me the discourtesy of lying to me. We have always been honest with each other.”

            Hermione sighed as she held onto his arm and helped him walk towards his office. “I do not forgive you. But I do not hate you. And we are on the same side.”

            Dumbledore’s lips curved into a curious smile that was neither hopeful nor happy. “I suppose that is more than I deserve.”

 

***

 

            The letters and coded puzzles stopped. For weeks Severus hunted for clues in every publication, every book, and even becoming so desperate for just a hint that he was missing, his eyes even scanned street signs or muggle billboards when he walked by them. But there was nothing.

            Perhaps she had taken his words to heart and had fled. He knew he was a poor example of a man when he had so hoped she would do the opposite.

            “Are you _paying attention_ , Severus?”

            Severus snapped out of his reverie a moment too late, the Dark lord’s face twisted in irritation and his wand already raised. The Cruciatus curse hit him a second later and he was brought to his knees, screaming on the floor in front of the other Death Eaters. Punished for taking a second to hope for something a spy was never allowed to have.

            Miles away, secreted in her own potions laboratory, Hermione was adding the final touches to the simmering contents of her cauldron. Lily had loaned her all the equipment she needed, and it had taken her a week to collect all the ingredients. It was the most difficult and finicky potion Hermione had ever attempted, and it tested her patience on a daily basis, but the Polyjuice potion was one that would not be rushed.

            “It’s a gamble, but-“

            Dumbledore interrupted her, “It could cost you your life.”

            He sounded furious, when he first found out about what her plan was to discern the locations of the other horcruxes. Hermione had merely given him an odd smile and asked, “When has that not been the case?”

            Dumbledore kept his peace after that, but there was a marked tension the other Order members could pick up on from that moment on. Hermione rarely came to meetings or reports afterward, instead monitoring her potion like an anxious mother, locked away in the lab.

            “There are disturbing reports from the school, one that has even made it to the werewolves.” Remus sat at the dining table, haggard and thinner than he had ever looked, with a constant tremble in his limbs. Even though the fireplace was roaring and he was surrounded by other people, it was as if the Forbidden Forest and the moonlit nights had left a chill in his bones he could not shake.

            “There are messages written in blood all over the schools. Horrible things like, ‘Slytherin has woken’ and ‘The Pure fear not’. It started about a week ago. Now, at night, we hear one of the students screaming and crying in their sleep from terrible nightmares. A Ravenclaw boy. He keeps saying, ‘Stop it, Tom’.”

            Dumbledore’s face darkened and he whispered to Luna, “Please fetch Hermione from her work. She will want to hear this.”

            Remus continued, his hands still shaking. “Two nights ago he came into the Forbidden Forest past curfew. I could smell the fear on him, it was so thick it was almost suffocating. He went in as deep as he could and then he flung something into the trees and ran back to the school. It was this old book. A diary.”

            Hermione walked into the kitchen in time to hear and her eyes widened, locking with Dumbledore’s.

            “Last night, _he came back_. Only this time, he was different. He wasn’t afraid at all. He went searching through the forest, looking for the book. He searched for an hour and he would have continued except that he ran across one of our patrols and was chased out. I’m sure he’s going to come back again for it tonight.”

            “We must go _now_ and retrieve it before he can,” Dumbledore said, almost rising out of his chair before the pain struck him again, so great was his urgency.

            Remus shook his head wildly. “You don’t understand - that whole school is cursed now. Myself, and the other werewolves, we’ve been _hearing_ it. Something is _slithering through the walls_.”

            Hermione felt her stomach drop. Everyone crammed in the kitchen had similar stunned looks on their faces, but only she and one other person knew the real implications of Remus’ terrified account.

            Dumbledore was insistent. “Can you find where the diary is again, Remus? We must find it. Now.”

            Remus looked like he was on the verge of tears, a shattered man, but after a moment he finally nodded. James had a protective hand on his friend’s shoulder and he said, “I’ll go with him.”

            “I’ll go too,” Harry said quickly, standing up. He did not want to be dismissed. Lily looked as if she were about to give him an earful, but Hermione discreetly nodded to Dumbledore, who then declared, “Fine. Be careful all three of you. James, take your cloak.”

            James had an apologetic look on his face, but he clasped Lily’s hand and said firmly, “He’s a man now.”

            She muttered, “Small comfort, love,” but kissed him before he ran to gather his cloak and leave her to a sleepless night until they all made it back safely.

            Hermione drew close to Dumbledore’s side and quietly hissed into his ear, “There’s a bloody _basilisk_ at Hogwarts? What kind of school were you running?”

 

***

 

            “It’s…it’s not far.” Remus stalked low through the brush, almost on all fours until he felt self-conscious about his slip into more beastly behaviour, and reverted to crouching. “Close…close by…”

            “ _Lumos_ ,” Harry whispered, scanning the undergrowth by wandlight. He and James were underneath the invisibility cloak in case they ran into the other werewolves of the forest.

            “Wait,” Remus said, sticking his nose up into the air. He paled and whispered, “He’s _here_.”

            “Quick, Harry, go.” James slipped out from under the cloak and gave Harry a little push. Harry crept forward, still searching the forest floor as James readied his wand and kept watch.

            “You shouldn’t be here,” a cold, polite voice said. The Ravenclaw boy emerged from the trees. He looked to be about fifth year age, and despite his thin clothing, he looked comfortable and unperturbed by the chilly night air. “Excuse me, but I’m looking for something.”

            “Funny, so are we,” James said, hoping to stall the boy and give Harry some more time. He added, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

            The boy shrugged, smiling, and then whipped out his wand and yelled, “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

            James dodged the curse, hearing Harry yell somewhere, and Remus howl. “Keep looking!” he bellowed, as he dodged another fired curse and began to duel the boy.

            “Remus, where? Here?” Harry desperately tried to follow Remus’ directions, but the werewolf was panicked, his focus split between sniffing for the diary and leaping to James’ aid. The beam of light from Harry’s wand passed over the tangled roots of a tree and he saw a leather corner poking out of it. He lunged forward and grasped for it, tugging out the diary. “Here! I got it!”

            A second later Remus went tearing off towards the duel. Harry inspected the diary quickly to double-check it was what he was looking for and discovered that the pages were empty. He tucked the curious book into his robes and then ran towards his father.

            Remus tackled the boy to the ground, snarling and growling. James tugged the back of Remus’ shirt and yelled, “Remus, stop!”

            Harry ran over just in time to see the boy’s face change from the cold, polite mask, to one of disorientation and fear. Remus struggled with James, one hand still clutched around the boy’s robes, the other pulled back and ready to strike. Surprised tears sprang to the boy’s eyes as he looked at them in terror.

            “Please, please don’t kill me! _Please!_ ”

            Some of his cries must have penetrated the thoughtless rage that had clouded Remus’ mind. He allowed James to pull him back.

            The boy cowered on the forest floor. “Just…just don’t torture me. I don’t have any siblings, my parents aren’t important. Killing them won’t help you either!”

            Harry looked at the boy, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

            “You’re from the Order of the Phoenix, aren’t you? Look, I don’t know what I did - I’m sorry. Just please, don’t hurt me or my family. We don’t have money. We don’t know anyone important. We’re nobody. Please…” He dissolved into sobs.

            Harry, James and Remus all looked sick to their stomachs. Harry looked to the crying boy, not so far off in age as he was, and realized that was what all other boys his age must think of them. How could they know the _Prophet_ had been spinning lies all these years?

            “Go back to your dormitory. Go now!” The boy flinched when Harry yelled at him, but scrambled to his feet and ran away as fast as he could.

            Remus sank to his knees and hid his face behind his arm. His whole body shook so hard that Harry couldn’t tell if he was having a laughing fit or a seizure. James knelt down beside him and, unashamed, Remus grabbed for his arms, clutching onto James’ sleeves.

            “I-I’m ready to go home now. I don’t want to stay in the forest anymore. I want to go home.”


	16. Chapter 16

            Severus paid the owl for its delivery and then tossed the package of journals onto his desk, untouched. He had hoped, he had waited, and he had been tortured for his due diligence. The woman could go to hell.

            Severus uncorked a vial of murtlap essence and tipped it down his throat in one shot. The pain hurt everywhere, past the point of a topical reliever. He eyed his stack of mail and saw the corner of the new _Ars Alchemica_. He looked away, realized he was still thinking about it, and with an irritated huff sat down at his desk and opened the latest issue.

            _The Uses for Juvenile Mandrakes._

_The Rise of the Black Market Ingredients Trade in Bulgaria._

_Eldritch Volumes and Nordic Safeguards._

_Demiguise Hair: Poison or Palliative?_

Severus paused, his eyes skimming back. _Eldritch Volumes and Nordic Safeguards_. He stopped breathing for a moment, frozen. It couldn’t be, not after all this time… E-V-A-N-S.

            Like a drowning man he flipped wildly to the corresponding article and almost began to weep as his well-trained eyes were able to pick out a telltale pattern that confirmed there was a coded message. Just for him.

            With nerveless fingers Severus began to mark the article and decipher its puzzle. He was so excited that he had to take a moment here and there to calm himself so his ink wouldn’t blot the page. It was a relatively simple skip code, like the one he had used before, and he was almost sad that the puzzle was done so soon, though he thirsted more for the missive it contained.

            S-W-I-N-G-S-T-O-N-I-G-H-T.

            It took Severus a moment to comprehend those words. Swings. Tonight.

            When he realized Lily meant to meet him in person he threw himself out of his chair and ran out of his empty flat, halfway down the street below, before he remembered he was a wizard that did not need to run all the way from London back to his home village.

 

***

 

            She was already sitting on one of the swings and he felt his heart stop for a moment. There was barely any moonlight, but he would never be able to mistake that face, even in the darkness. She looked older, not the same girl he remembered from his youth, and that only made him thirst more for this meeting he had so longed for. He could finally speak to her, a woman of flesh and blood who had lived a different life than his, instead of the pale mirage that haunted his fading memories.

            He felt afraid as she approached her, awkwardly sitting down on the swing next to her. What could they say to each other after all these years? With a planet’s worth of distance between them?

            “You need a haircut,” she said.

            He blinked, momentarily stunned, and then broke into a fit of laughter. She looked startled by his reaction, and then slowly charmed despite herself.

            He finally gained control of himself and asked, “Are you actually here?”

            “Yes, but I have every protective spell and charm surrounding my person. If you draw your wand I’ll disapparate faster than you can spit.”

            Severus nodded without any offense taken. He had expected her to take every precaution possible. His wand was in its holster at his side, and he was content to fold his hands into his lap. “You must realize by now that this isn’t a war, but a siege. And it may be another month, another year, but all you can manage to do is prolong your deaths for a little while longer.”

            “Then did you come tonight just to say goodbye to me?”

            “I think so.” Severus looked down at his clasped fingers and then up at the playground they were sitting in, and had played in together so many years ago. “I didn’t even think I’d get this much.”

            “So final, Severus?” His eyes snapped up to her when she said his name. From her lips it at once sounded like music and poison. She had a bitter, sad smile playing around her eyes and mouth. “Is that really how it has to be?”

            “I don’t see the point in lying to you.”

            “You can do better than just being honest with me.” She surprised him with the intensity of her conviction that he could do better, could _be_ better.

            “I can’t.”

            “You warned me, and not even the first time you have tried to warn me-“

            He cut her off. “And could I ever expect or demand for you to listen? Or trust me? I am not so blind to what I have done or how we’ve grown apart because of my actions. You have always followed your own will, as have I. I guess it’s all brought us to this point now.”

            “Then you know that I must at least try. Try everything in my power, please, Severus. Where are they? I know that you know, I know that you are guarding them.”

            He smirked a little. “I guess we’re done with the pretense that you wanted to speak to me and hammering right to the point.”

            She didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed. “I don’t have the luxury of being on the winning side. Everyone I love has died or is going to die if I don’t do this.”

            “Do you still hate me so much or am I also a dying man?”

            She was taken aback, not knowing how to answer, but her hesitation spoke volumes. He spared her after a moment. “You would be insane if you didn’t. I have my regrets that a friendship that meant so much to me has warped into this, but I’m too tired to dwell on it. Only grateful that these past few years have brought you back into my life in some way.”

            Her voice was hushed. “What kind of life is it that makes you grateful to have me return either as your victim or your executioner?”

            “I feel old, Lily.” Severus looked deep into her eyes, savouring the shadowed green hue he had missed. “I _feel_ every year that I have lived and it feels as though I am on borrowed time that is swiftly running out. Half of me feels like I should already be six feet into the ground. The other half will not stop fighting. And I don’t know how much longer I can exist on hate-fueled inertia.”

            He was so much more self-aware than she had expected. She could still sense the pangs of unrequited love he carried, but she was surprised to see that the harsh tempering this man had undergone had made him cruel, yes, but also with his own brand of wisdom.

            “Are…are you here because you _want_ me as your gentle executioner?”

            He pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side as he considered her with an ironic levity. “I had always hoped it would be you in the end, in a duel I suspected. It seems like a poetic end, but as I said, the fighting half of me would not want to lose.”

            “I would win,” she said half-seriously.

            He gave her a grin that did not reach his eyes and was as predatory as it was familiar. “Who would have thought being a rebel would have made you so cocksure? You were arrogant when we were in school, but in an aloof, quiet way. You’ve grown teeth.”

            She looked unsure, as if she were afraid she had said too much, but he spared her any response with another predatory smirk. “I like it.”

            “I have my back against the wall, are you surprised I’ve developed a bite? It isn’t my life being threatened, Severus, it’s my son’s.”

            Despite his unusually sanguine composure this night, her mention of Harry caused his eyes to narrow. She noticed this and her hand twisted around the chain of the swing. “Are you still punishing me for loving another?”

            “ _No_ ,” he spat out, though he barely convinced himself. He forced himself to look at her and try again. “No. Once, yes. For a long time, yes. But it has been so many years…you are happy.”

            Her voice rang out in condemnation. “Happy? To have raised my son, to see him grow from a child to a man, and know that his only inheritance is a violent death? I don’t care if I die, I’ve already accepted that I am dead, but Harry-“

            “I care if you die, Lily, you know I do. You know it’s cruel to throw that in my face-“

            “Then _help_ me.”

            Her eyes were wild and more beautiful for the glistening tears that had not fallen yet. She had reached out and seized the front of his robes in her hands, pulling him closer to her. He did not know if she meant to shake him in her frustration, but his breath caught in his throat, as their faces were inches away from each other.

            He almost stammered, his heartbeat frantic. “You were always the first to court danger, but must you pursue death? I have learned more than you could imagine in the years we’ve been apart. What you seek is heavily guarded by machinations of my design, meant to punish, meant to destroy those who would break them…”

            Her voice was barely above a whisper and, to his shock, her eyes slipped down to look at his mouth. “Then let me be destroyed by you… Let me make that choice.”

            He could not summon any words, only shake his head. Her hands were still gripping his robes and he was so frightened of how close she was, his own hands had the swing chains in a vice grip. He didn’t know whether he wanted to grab her back or shove her away.

            She pleaded, coming closer. “If this is goodbye, can you not for just a moment be the person I once loved?”

            He felt like he had been hit in the chest and stomach, his body cramping painfully and his breath curling and tensing painfully in his sides. He was at once wounded and furious and, as delusional as it was, hopeful. “You would be so cruel?” he asked in a choked whisper, “You would stoop so low as to say such a thing as that?”

            “You don’t believe I felt love for you once?”

            “ _No_.”

            She let his robes slip out of her hands, freeing him to leave. “Then why are you still here?”

            He hurt. He hurt everywhere and winded, he wanted nothing more than to lay his head on her shoulder, and settled for resting his forehead against the cold chain of the swing. “Even I cannot break the enchantments I designed. Only one vastly more cruel or infinitely more kind than I could. That is a rare person to find…on both counts.”

            “And you still will not tell me what I need to know?”

            Severus glanced at her through the links in the chain, wondering at how her smile could still be full of such life and joy even with the darkness hanging over all of them. He shook his head.

            “Then…goodbye, Severus.”

            She leaned forward and he felt warm fingers slide up his chest and settle around his neck. He drew back, frightened, confused, until he felt her hands rest against the sides of his face and he only fought a little when she pulled him towards her. Then her lips were whispering against his and he began to tremble violently as she closed her eyes and kissed him.

            At first he didn’t think any of it was real. He had been dreaming of a moment like this for so long, had conjured so many different variations of it that his mind refused to believe it when he was now in this moment where dream had become reality. When it finally sunk in then he was overwhelmed with conflicting desires. He wanted to close his eyes so he could drink in every sensation, but he did not want to stop looking at her. He wanted to record every sensation, every second of what this felt like, but he wanted to jump in and experience it fully. He wanted to grab her, wanted to touch her…

            Finally, this urge was strong enough to compel his body to unfreeze and obey, and he grasped her face, buried his fingers into her hair, and deepened the kiss with a hunger that only grew as it was fed. His eyes slipped shut and he didn’t care, lost in the tangle of their mouths, in feeling the warm pressure of her lips, the hot gusts of her breath.

            She made a noise in the back of her throat that nearly undid him, then pulled away for breath. He looked down into her eyes, it was so dark that they looked black instead of green, and there was a small smile on her face. He wanted to drink her in for a moment before he needed her lips again.

            Then the hands around his face tensed.

            It took him a moment to realize something odd was happening, but then it was too late. She gripped his face tightly so he could not pull away from her, a look of fierce determination on her face, and then she leaned forward, her eyes locked with his in deadly intent.

            “ _Legilimens_.”

            She broke into his mind. And he, so stunned, so wildly happy, had dropped his guard so that his thoughts offered her as much resistance as a paper screen. She saw everything.

            A dark forest with a small, still lake that looked like glass. Something twinkling at the bottom. A stone tower jutting out like a twisted limb. Abandoned, only a flock of magpies stirring inside its walls like boiling ink.

            Then suddenly his face was freed, she was stumbling away from him and turning on her heel. Before his fingertips could even brush against the handle of his wand, she had disappeared. Leaving him with nothing. Without a goodbye, without a curse, without a fight.

            And now, even without the sanctity he used to hold all memories of her.


	17. Chapter 17

            Hermione appeared back in the entranceway of 12 Grimmauld Place, the red hue already fading from her hair and her features settling back to her true face. She stood, stunned, for a moment at how all the events had played out that night. Then she remembered herself, the precious information fresh in her mind, and ran for Dumbledore’s office knowing that she had set things into motion that were unraveling faster than she could keep up.

            The door to his office slammed open and it startled Fawkes. Dumbledore looked at her curiously, already trying to rise to his feet. “Hermione, I have been perusing memories. I believe I know the location of another-“

            “Tonight. We have to get them all tonight. Right now.”

            Her eyes were wild and she was breathless. Dumbledore took her in and then was straight to business, understanding they did not have the time for proper explanations. “Go. Whatever you need.”

            Before Hermione could run out of the room he grasped her hand and said, “Be safe.”

            She nodded, there was nothing more to say, and then ran through the Order headquarters to find Lily Potter. What she had done was reckless, but she had to make the call. She was sure Snape was going to relocate the horcruxes she had discovered in his memories tonight, and now she had to beat him there.

            _One vastly more cruel, or infinitely more kind…_

            Voldemort would be able to access the horcruxes and break the enchantments in place; that much was obvious. But Snape must have allowed one more person, one more magical signature to break the enchantments, for reasons that made no sense to Hermione, but she was beginning to see the enormous power of after her encounter with him.

            “Lily!”

            The older witch was startled to see Hermione in such an urgent state, and immediately came over to her side. “Hermione, what is it?”

            Unexpectedly, Hermione felt a pang of guilt grip her heart. She had used this woman’s face, this witch who had been nothing but kind to her since she was a frightened girl, and Hermione had not only taken liberty with her appearance, but by leveraging her history with a dangerous man, Hermione had also rewritten her future.

            She took a deep breath. There was no time for second-guessing in her line of work. “Are you ready to end this war?”

 

***

 

            The first place Severus went to was Spinner’s End, disapparating and then reappearing in the old sitting room before he realized where instinct had taken him. He sat down heavily in the armchair his mother had spent her last years in, trying not to drown with all the conflicting thoughts and feelings sweeping through him. It was a trick, all just a trick and yet…dare he believe that some of it was real? Was it really all just a dream, for surely the warm lips that had caressed his were not a figment of his fevered nights?

            _She used a kiss. Used it like a weapon. She has destroyed me with a kiss._

            Severus’ eyes snapped open as the rest of the night’s implications caught up with him. The dark lord’s artifacts. She had seen their locations and he would be a fool not to think she would pursue them immediately. He was running out of time.

            Severus gripped the armrests of the chair, paralyzed by indecision. He could pursue her, _now_ , but there were two locations. How would he know which one she would strike first? Would he be able to head her off in time? Severus thought of the spy’s game they had been playing these past few years. If this was her endgame, she surely wouldn’t leave anything to chance, like she had left none this night. There would be two parties the Order would send to strike both locations at once.

            Would Severus be able to get to both in time?

            Severus let out a shaky breath and clutched his head in his hands. Should he tell the Dark lord, his master, what had transpired? He would be killed, tortured for certain, that this act of loyalty could very well be his doom. But, would the repercussions be worse if he could not prevent the theft and failed?

            Would Severus face the Dark lord’s ire and another punishment of humiliation and the Cruciatus curse? Or would he face a guaranteed painful death and the possibility that he lose the war effort over a single mistake?

            Severus stood up and then immediately wanted to sit down again. Those weren’t the real questions at all. Really, what it came down to was: would he sacrifice Lily to the Dark lord?

            _This is a war, and you have merely done your duty. Am I a criminal then for having to perform mine?_

            With a kiss she had plunged a knife into a wound of his that had been thirty years in the healing. With a kiss she had sounded off the battle horn for the final engagement. With a kiss she had smothered the minute flame of hope that had been feeding off of delusion and regret inside of him for so long.

            Snape held up his wand and disapparated for the Dark lord’s headquarters. Like a good spy he was going to do what must be done, no matter how distasteful the outcome. But he was selfish. He wasn’t going to let his master be the one to hunt her down. That pleasure would be all his.

            He was a good spy, and that was his reward.

 

***

 

            “There will be traps, possibly even a puzzle for you to solve. It will take all of your wit, your knowledge, everything you have within you and then some.”

            Lily gave Hermione a grim smirk and rolled up her shirtsleeves. She was ready to face whatever it took. Hermione wasn’t done with her instructions, however, and insisted, “We’ll communicate via patronus. Use protective wards, but nothing that will hide your magic.”

            Lily quirked a curious eyebrow at her as realization dawned on her face. She was as clever as Hermione in her own way, and she was able to read the young woman like a book. “I’m the only one who can do this, aren’t I?” A flash of pain crossed her face then and her eyelids shuttered. She said, knowingly, “It’s Severus…”

            Hermione looked away, afraid she was going to reveal more to Lily than she was comfortable with, just by meeting her gaze. Concern then overtook whatever dark thought was crossing Lily’s mind and she asked, “How are you going to be able to do this?”

            Hermione held up the blank diary before tucking it away into the inner lining of her robes again. Lily was confused and pressed, “What exactly are we hunting for, Hermione?”

            “A precious magical artifact. Possibly something of the founders-“

            “You’ve already said that,” Lily snapped. “But it’s more, isn’t it? It’s not just some shiny trinket. _What_ am I going to find in there?”

            Hermione shook her head, resolute. “It’s better you don’t know.”

            “And I suppose Dumbledore won’t tell me either?” When she saw the look of confirmation on Hermione’s face she almost looked disgusted. “I had hoped you wouldn’t have taken after him in that respect. Even if it’s ‘for my own good’ I have a right to know what I’m risking my life for.”

            Hermione didn’t know how to answer her, instead presenting Lily with the glass bottle she was going to turn into a portkey. Lily looked at her for a long, hard moment, then nodded. She would sacrifice anything to see the deed done, and they had no time to argue. James suddenly entered the room, tying his invisibility cloak around his neck. He placed his hand on Lily’s shoulder.

            Hermione frowned. “How much did you hear?”

            “Enough to know you ladies signed up for a suicide mission without me.”

            “No.” Hermione was met with a stubborn look that mirrored hers on James’ face. She tried again, “ _No_ -“

            “We’ll do this together. It could take two just to get past the various traps.” Lily grasped James’ hand and they stood united. When Hermione continued to hesitate, Lily said forcefully, “Let’s go.”

            “ _Portus_.” Hermione transformed the glass bottle into a portkey, and Lily and James touched it together, suddenly vanishing from view.

            Hermione felt very alone in that moment as the glass bottle fell to the ground and spun haphazardly on the floor. This way, that way, which way to go? It finally slowed to a complete stop, its neck pointing at the spot Hermione was a second after she also vanished from view.

 

***

 

            He closed his eyes and searched for the happiest and most bittersweet memory he had in his possession. When he and Lily were children. When he had first shown her magic and her face had lit up like the sun, in wonder and awe, and some of that beatific light had shone his way. The moment he knew that he wanted this woman in his life forever. This memory, tucked away so carefully in his mind, but already tainted with the knowledge that the young boy in it was to be so very disappointed in the future.

            _“Expecto Patronum_.”

            The silvery creature, borne of this powerful feeling, burst from the tip of his wand and formed in the darkness. It stood, quivering and at attention until he focused all of his feelings into a singular purpose and directed it towards the ghostly figure. Its ears flicked upwards and then it sprang away into the night, leaving a wispy trail behind it.

            He saw the direction it was going in and then, finally, contacted his master.

            “When this unfortunate business is dealt with, you will die, Severus.” The Dark lord’s whispers were like a thunderclap engulfing his ears. “Where are they going to?”

            Severus firmly kept the image of his patronus out of his thoughts, well behind the impenetrable walls of his mind. He knew where Lily was going, his soul’s ghostly familiar always knew how to find what most occupied his heart. So, under threat of death, dancing that dangerous line he had flirted with but until now had never crossed, he lied to his master.


	18. Chapter 18

            Hermione’s breath came out from between her lips like frosted smoke and she felt engulfed in darkness. She was deep in the heart of a forest and the trees overhead were so thick she could not see the moon or stars. It was cold and she drew her cloak tighter around herself.

            She was in the Forest of Dean. Hermione felt that the universe must run on some kind of twisted symmetry that the horcrux she had been looking for would bring her back to this place, where she had spent summers camping with her parents and made only happy memories. Now it housed a shredded soul fragment of one of the most evil and vile of humans to ever walk the earth.

            Hermione brought out the diary with another one of Voldemort’s soul fragments trapped inside, and a chill ran up her spine. Though the pages of the diary were empty, and it looked like an innocuous book, it seemed to be growing _stronger_ in her hand. She felt like a cloud of buzzing black flies were crawling over her hand that held the diary, and the phantom sensations were getting stronger the deeper she pushed into the forest.

            Well, it seemed she was on the right track then.

            Hermione kept walking through the darkness, using the diary as a strange compass, when she saw a break of light through the trees. Surprised, and cautious, she approached the light carefully until she came to a clearing in the forest with the lake as still as glass. It seemed to glow with soft light, as clear as crystal. It took her breath away.

            She crept to the edge of the water and saw that in the very centre of the lake was a silver tiara encrusted in gemstones. Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem. How was she going to get to the bottom of the lake? Would it be as simple as swimming down? Hermione pushed her hand into the water, but to her surprise the surface was solid. It did not even ripple from her touch, remaining smooth and immutable.

            Hermione looked at the diary and then slowly tried to submerge it into the lake. The surface then behaved like water and her hand with the book sank into it. Once an inch below the water’s surface the diary seemed to move of its own accord and tried to shoot down to the depths. Hermione had to hurl herself back, clutching onto the diary tightly before it dragged her down to the bottom of the lake at the speed of a fired bullet.

            The diary was impatient to reunite with its brother. Hermione lay sprawled on the bank, her chest hitching with short, scared breaths. The lake was freezing cold and already she was chilled to the bone. She looked at the diary and then to the bottom of the lake again. She would have to jump in with it, but then once she grabbed hold of the diadem would it fight her? Would she be able to come back up to the surface before she ran out of air?

            No puzzles. No clever riddles or traps or spell that would test her cunning and intelligence. This was a test of pure nerve and will. Hermione took a deep breath and then began to hyperventilate in order to temporarily increase the capacity of her lungs. She stripped off her cloak and then the majority of her outer clothing, shivering in the chilly night air. Any added weight would only help the horcrux from trying to drag her down to her death.

            Almost ready, she reached into a hidden pocket of her cloak and pulled out a roll of duct tape. It always helped to be prepared. She placed the diary against her stomach and wrapped the tape around it, securing it into place.

            Hermione stood at the edge of the crystal waters, shivering, almost naked and her lips already beginning to turn blue. The soft light of the lake shone on her face, and with a deep breath, she jumped and dove in.

 

***

 

            “Bloody birds…get out of my hair!” James swatted at a magpie that chattered in his face, annoyed with the intrusion. “It’s already a nightmare to comb.”

            Lily and James had made it through a series of curses and even some homicidal magical vegetation to get to the top of the rookery. But their progress had screeched to a halt as the only room at the top of the tower was filled with an enormous flock of magpies, and seemingly nothing else.

            She had been scratching her head for what felt like already a quarter of an hour, and her anxiety had spiked over the time wasted. She knew they were on a ticking clock and the sand in the hourglass was about to run out.

            Frustrated, James started making another tour of the tower room and began tapping his wand to every surface. The wooden desk, the stone wall, and the glass of the window.

            “What are you doing?”

            James moved from spot to spot meticulously. “There may be a secret entrance or room hidden in here. Also, when I’m stuck on a problem I find hitting things until I come up with an idea usually works.”

            Lily rolled her eyes and was tempted to laugh at him. James tapped a rusted metal cup on the table and was about to call it a day, when it rang out a dull tone and one of the magpies answered with a caw.

            “Hello…” James stared at the magpie in question, then tapped the metal cup again. It rang out its dull note, and the magpie cawed again as if on cue.

 

            Lily’s eyes widened. “James, pass me that cup, please.” He did and she transfigured it into a small xylophone. She tapped each key and for each note, a different magpie answered in the same key. James was shocked and looked at the flock of magpies in wonder, who were now observing both of them intently. “It’s music?”

            “What song, what song…” Lily muttered and played a few different, simple melodies on the xylophone. The magpies sang back with her, but nothing else happened. She tried a few simple chords, and James joked that she should try to do a rendition of the latest Wyrd Sister’s single.

            Severus had made this riddle for her. She was the only one who could do this. Lily closed her eyes and wracked her brains for some clue, some memory that might tell her how to solve this. With her eyes still shut, hopeful, she softly tapped the keys on the xylophone to a simple, but sweet lullaby she had once heard coming from Severus’ bedroom in Spinner’s End, when they were young.

            The magpies sang the lullaby with her, and suddenly there was a _click_ and the shuddering groan of shifting stone. A column rose up from the ground and resting on its pedestal was a golden cup with Helga Hufflepuff’s crest embossed on the surface. There was a shimmering blue barrier surrounding it.

            James raised his eyebrows at her. “You are an amazing witch and I am not worthy.”

            “Don’t forget to add ‘lucky’ for marrying you.”

            Lily smirked at him and reached for his hand. Nervous, she reached her free hand out slowly towards the shimmering barrier, tensing as her fingertips just brushed the surface. She felt a tingle, but her hand continued to pass through and she grasped the handle of the cup. Just as carefully, she pulled it through the barrier, letting out a deep breath when it cleared it without incident.

            “James, we did it!”

            “ _You_ did it. Now, come on, we should get back to Dumbledore.”

            Lily held up the cup in wonder, and then drew out her wand. “I should just send a quick message to Hermione-“

            The magpies all began to screech at once. The golden cup in Lily’s hand began to rattle violently. James held onto her hand tightly, pulling her behind him and holding out his wand. Dark shadows filled the tower room and the air grew colder.

            James locked eyes with her as they backed up against the wall. He whispered, “Lily, run. Lily, I love you.”

            The golden cup shook so much it finally freed itself from Lily’s grip and clattered onto the floor. It bounced and trembled, skittering across the tower to roll by the feet of its master. Two red slits appeared in the shadows, and Lily grasped onto her husband’s hand more tightly, drawing out her wand, choosing to fight by his side.

 

***

 

            “Please, sir. You have to drink this.” Luna Lovegood’s silvery voice echoed throughout the cave, its inherent whimsy starkly out of place in the oppressive tomb.

            Dumbledore was bent over and raving on the stone floor, weeping and snarling, completely out of his mind. Unfazed and with a gentle touch, Luna held the goblet to his lips and coaxed him to drink the last of the potion. She looked into the basin and finally saw they had reached the bottom and plucked out a locket on a chain that was nested there.

            “We’ve done it, sir. Do you need a moment?”

            Finally, the inhuman keening from Dumbledore stopped. He lay, exhausted, on the floor, slowly regaining himself. His voice was weak and he reached out for her hand. “Water…please…”

            Luna looked to the green-lit lake and the hints of bodies at the depths. “I don’t know, sir…that looks like Inferi at the bottom. I’d gather this to be another trick.”

            “… _please_ …water…”

            Luna saw the desperate look on his face and then considered the lake again. She knelt down and dipped the goblet into the lake, collecting its crisp, cool waters. Immediately the bodies began to churn below, the Inferi waking and sensing vulnerable prey above.

            “ _Glacius maximus!_ ”

            Luna’s freezing charm shot out of her wand like a massive, frosted wave, racing across the expanse of the cave and freezing the top layer of the lake solid. It was almost comical to see such an enormous wave of magic come out of the small, waif-like girl. Dumbledore thirstily drank the cold water from the goblet, the fire burning in his skull finally dissipating, and watched as Inferi scrabbled with the thick layer of ice, unable to break through.

            “That…” he spoke, his voice still weak, “…was a most impressive display of abstract problem solving.”

            Luna smiled. “Thank you, sir. Shall we skate across now?”

            He needed to hold her arm, but with a few spells that shot hot air out of her wand, Luna gained enough momentum that they were able to slide across the ice lake and make it back to the entrance of the cave in good time. Dumbledore took the locket from her and noted the gilded ‘S’ engraved on its surface. He could feel the malice and dark energy inside. One more horcrux.

            Dumbledore stumbled as they made it out of the cave, gripping hard onto Luna’s arm. Her large eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head when she looked at him in concern. He had already suffered much in the war up to this point, and the vile potion was still wreaking havoc on his body.

            “Are you all right, Mister Dumbledore?”

            Another bolt of pain lanced up his side and he gasped. “I am fine, will be fine…I am worried about the others.”

 

***

 

            Hermione was completely blind, trapped in a world of cold and darkness where she could not breathe, did not know which way was up, and was too frightened to register a single thought. She could feel that she was moving, and quickly, but where she was plunging to, she did not know.

            Her head bumped painfully against a rocky shelf and her vision exploded with stars. Then she remembered that her eyes were still closed, and it took all of her will and her internally screaming at herself before she could manage to open her eyes again.

            The world was murky and dark, but something twinkled a few feet ahead of her. _Swim! Swim, Hermione!_ She chanted to herself over and over again and kicked her way over to Ravenclaw’s diadem even though her limbs felt clumsy and heavy, and even just standing still felt like the weight of the world was crushing down on her.

            She made it to the bottom, diadem clutched in hand, and then kicked off as hard as she could. It was disheartening to see that the momentum only gained her a few short feet and then the panic set in when the diary started struggling and pulled her down. Hermione kicked and struggled, trying to separate the water with her arms, wondering why she had never taken swimming lessons, and thinking over and over to herself: _I am going to die, I am going to die, I am going to die…_

She panicked again, her eyes stinging, as she lost her sense of direction and began to doubt whether the way she was going was really up, or if she was diving back down into the depths of the lake again. She was already hitting the limit of going without a breath of air. Actually, she had already passed the limit of going without air. Her lungs were on fire, adrenaline was surging through her body, and she was losing sensation in all of her extremities.

            _“Half of me feels like I should already be six feet into the ground.”_

            The diary sensed her giving up and redoubled its efforts to drown her. Hermione could feel her torso being jerked down and her body sinking back into the depths of the lake. It was so much easier to just let something else decide her course of action. To relinquish control, duty, accountability…to let someone else decide her fate.

            _“The other half will not stop fighting.”_

            Hermione’s mouth opened in a silent scream, streams of bubbles bursting forth and surrounding her head like a halo. She grabbed forward, striking at the water with her exhausted limbs, reaching deep inside of herself for just another inch more. She began to see light up ahead, could feel the diary pushing her stomach back, and she kept reaching up, up…

            Hermione’s head broke the surface of the water and she began to choke before the diary plunged her back down again. But she had felt cold air on her face, had felt that flash of the world above the water and she was not going to let it go. Her head broke the surface of the lake again and coughing, retching, she pummeled the water until her fingers were grasping at the bank and she pulled herself out. She was choking and almost vomited as she coughed, sinking to the dirt and grass in tears.

            She couldn’t believe how _cold_ she was, the water cooling on her skin in the already chilly night air and it was almost as if she could feel her body temperature plummet further. She shook so hard that her teeth clattered together and she groped for her cloak, pulling it around herself. It was almost too cold to think. She needed to get out of here, find somewhere warm. The horcruxes and Voldemort and the world just seemed too distant of a thing for her to think about when her body was in shock and took over her mind with its mantra for warmth.

            With numb fingers Hermione searched for her wand and picked it up when she saw a silver doe poke its head out of the tree line. Hermione spooked, her lips too numb for her to even form a spell, but she realized it was a doe patronus.

            _Lily! Thank, Merlin…_

            Hermione stumbled towards the doe, the cloak falling off of her. She just wanted someone to lean on, to help her stand up and to help her disapparate away from the forest. They had done it, they could go back and tell Dumbledore…

            The doe sprang out of the trees, cantering around the lake before disappearing in the night air. Hermione looked to the place by the trees where the patronus was fading when a tall, dark-haired man stepped out of the shadows in its place. Hermione fell to her knees.

            _No_ …

            Severus entered the clearing with the lake and was downright shocked at the sight he was greeted with. The entire time over he had been thinking what he was going to say to Lily, and then coming to terms with the fact that the time for speaking was over. He was marching to the lake in the Forest of Dean to duel with Lily Evans and only one was going to walk away. Several times he was on the verge of losing his nerve, but his feet continued to take one step after another and he let himself accept the inevitable.

            He did not expect at all to see _that_ young girl again.

            She was standing there dripping wet and almost naked, looking like a drowned fish and, bizarrely, with something wrapped around her stomach. However, he saw the shining diadem around her arm and he realized she had somehow broken through _his enchantments_ and stolen the artifact. She fell to the ground, her lips and fingers blue, obviously suffering from hypothermia and shock, and he thought that she looked so pathetic and unassuming. Yet, the other part of his mind was blaring an alarm, she had done something that should have been impossible.

            “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

            The Killing curse shot through the darkness and she avoided it at the last second, not with magic, but by leaping out of the way and hurling herself straight into a tree. She cried out, her forehead bleeding, have missed death by a few inches.

            Severus felt like the world was tipping beneath his feet as everything he had believed was falling apart in front of him. He bellowed at her, “WHERE IS LILY!”

            The mudblood girl, Hermione Granger he remembered, looked at him horrified and stunned. With all of her physical and mental faculties impaired because of the punishment she had just endured, he was inclined to believe it was genuine. “Y-Y-You didn’t k-kill her?”

            It was Severus’ turn to look at her, stunned. She rose a shaky finger to him. “Your p-pa-patronus…?”

            Severus stalked towards her, looming above her shell-shocked form at his feet. “She should be here. Is she not with you? She’s hiding somewhere nearby. Yes, _my_ patronus lead me here.”

            Hermione shook her head, her body shivering so much from the cold she was at the point of convulsing. “No…the rookery…”

            Severus suddenly felt as cold as she did. His voice came out barely above a whisper. “Not…not Albus? Not Sirius? Not someone else from the Order?”

            “Lily’s at…the ro-rookery…” Hermione’s face suddenly scrunched up as she was hit with understanding. Severus had that eerie feeling again as if this young witch could read his whole life story on his face. Hermione sobbed, “H-He’s there, isn’t he? _He’s_ there with Lily… _Lily_ …”

            Hermione bowed her head and allowed the shivers in her body to transform into wracking sobs. She was too tired, too weak to do much more but allow the despair to overtake her. Snape could kill her in this moment, she knew, but she couldn’t even pronounce a spell to defend herself, let alone raise up her wand. It was all over.

            Snape, however, looked like a man who had been struck by lightning. He stood frozen, terror on his face, and then suddenly he was stepping back away from her and then running. Mid-sprint, he turned on his heel and vanished with a swirl of his robes. Hermione knew somehow that a moment later he would be tearing up the stone steps of the rookery tower calling out Lily’s name.


	19. Chapter 19

            Helga Hufflepuff’s cup lay smoking on the floor, the embossed crest blackened and warped by a powerful curse that had destroyed the vessel. Voldemort had decided to reunite a piece of his soul for safer keeping and left its temporary house a discarded husk, rather like the two bodies he had also left littered in the tower room.

            Severus swept into the room already knowing he was too late, and when he fell to the floor beside her he was without shame, without dignity and without any hope. He clutched her still, pale form to himself and let out a howl of anguish so deep that it pierced through the cacophony of the magpies as they cawed in unison with him, piercing the night with their melancholy dirge.

            They finally found him, hours later, still with the red-haired witch in his arms. They reported that fact when they tossed him at the feet of the Dark lord. Voldemort tortured him continuously until the sun broke out through the clouds, signaling dawn. He shrieked at Severus for his weakness, for having filthy blood, for falling prey to the base charms of a mudblood slut and an enemy witch no less, and for having compromised his master.

            The entire time, though he was never let up from the Cruciatus curse, though he was kicked on, stomped, spit on and even stabbed, Severus did not make a single sound. There were no screams, no groans, no desperate pleading for the pain to stop. Voldemort finally left him for dead, having tired hours ago of playing with a toy that was already broken.

            They left him there, a puppet with its strings cut.

 

***

 

            “Harry. _HARRY_ , come back-“

            Harry’s fist swung out and almost connected with the side of Sirius’ face. He jerked his arm out of Sirius’ grasp and ran out the door. Sirius looked angry, then sad and was about to run out after him when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked down to see Ginny, who had a determined look on her face.

            “I’ll get him back. Don’t worry,” she said, and then she was tearing off after Harry. Sirius sagged against the doorframe and then whirled around and punched a hole in the wall, just as unable to process his grief as Harry was.

            Hermione had been force-fed two vials of Pepper-Up potion and was then situated in front of a roaring fireplace. She was still shivering, but the worst of the chills had subsided. Dumbledore sat with her, Fawkes resting in his lap, and Hermione did nothing except stare blankly into the fire.

            Dumbledore passed her a cup of hot tea. Hermione took it in her hand, but did not drink from it, still keeping vigil of the flames. Finally, he gently said her name, “Hermione…”

            “I killed her, “ Her voice was matter-of-fact, but hollow. “I sent her to her death. James too. And now Harry is an orphan. I’ve ruined all their lives.”

            She sat silently and continued to watch the dancing embers. It was a long time before she grew curious as to Dumbledore’s silence. She did not turn to look at him, but she asked, “No pep-talk?”

            Dumbledore sipped at his own tea, stroking Fawkes’ feathers before answering her. “Did you expect me to protest? To tell you that it was not your fault and that you couldn’t have possibly done anything? I have sent people, friends, to their deaths before. I know what you are feeling. I know those words are hollow. You had to make a choice. People died because you made that choice. Right now, you do not know if any will be saved in the long run because of the decision you made. Even if it saved millions, it is little comfort to the ones that are gone.”

            She finally looked at him, a hard look in her eyes that were glistening with unshed tears of exhaustion and frustration. He gave her a slight shrug. “I did not think it would surprise you to learn I know something of the brutal calculus of war. I taught you, after all.”

            “Yes. You did.” Her voice was hard and bitter, but as much of it was directed at herself.

            “We are not allowed to mourn, to hesitate, or to really indulge in our feelings beyond a moment. But right now, you are allowed this moment so make use of it while there is still time.”

 

***

 

            “Look at this, Monica!”

            “One second, I just want to finish this sentence.”

            “Look, you’ll miss it!” Wendell Wilkins lowered his wife’s book, and pointed to the sky.

            She looked up to see a shooting star flash against the deep purples of the waning sunset, its tail streaking through the gradient of colour like a finger swiping through ink. She gasped, her smile deepening as she saw the childlike excitement on her husband’s face. She reached for his hand and squeezed it, bringing it to her lips.

            “Can’t ask for a more beautiful night, can you?” He asked, refilling her cup of tea. “Out here you can really take in and enjoy the simple things.”

            She couldn’t disagree. Their house was in a remote location far away from any neighbors or the nearest town. They drove as the sun was rising to go to work, and at night after their evening meal they sat on their back porch and read books together until the sun went down. It was peaceful and beautiful and almost perfect.

            “It’s just a shame, really, that children were never in the cards for us,” Monica said softly.

            Wendell looked over at her and saw the hint of regret on her face, reaching over to stroke her cheek and try to brush it away. They were past the age where children came easily, and despite the fun of trying, it had just never happened and likely never would. “We could always adopt, love.”

            Monica sighed, trying to shake off her momentary gloom. “I know. And it just doesn’t seem right for us anymore. It just would have been nice.”

            “Well, it’s probably for the best. Any spawn of ours with your brains and my looks? They would have taken over the world and left none of the glory for other people’s children. Can’t be greedy, can we?”

            She joined in with his laughter and kept their fingers entwined together as they watched the sun slip below the horizon.

            On the top floor of their house, hidden from view, Hermione watched them hungrily with tears dripping down her face. Laughing quietly to herself at her father’s corny sense of humour, and her heart burning in her chest as she saw how happy they were. She didn’t call out, she didn’t announce herself, and when they gathered their things together and went back inside the house, she disapparated without re-altering their memories like she had planned.

 

***

 

            Severus’ body was tossed out the front gate of Malfoy Manor and he lay there inert for the next couple hours. When they checked again at night it was gone, so they assumed he had crawled somewhere else to die. If he was still alive, it wasn’t a matter of concern as something more urgent was preoccupying the Dark lord’s time.

            Severus somehow made it back to Spinner’s End and for the next couple days he spent it on the floor by his mother’s sitting chair. Thirst finally forced him to stir from his premature death and get up on his feet. What he did for the next couple of days even he wasn’t sure of, all he knew that he was existing in a space, but not living. Finally, he did something that even shocked Voldemort.

            He came back.

            As if nothing had happened, as if he had not disobeyed his master or had been tortured to death’s door, at the night of the next revel Severus stood in his spot with his hooded robe and silver mask. It took the other Death Eaters gathered a few moments to realize the extra person in their number, and then who it was that had the gall to show their face again.

            When Yaxley jeered at him and threatened to teach him another lesson, without a word, Severus fired a Killing curse at him and struck him down. The other Death Eaters watched, stunned, at the bold display, unsure of what to do. They looked to the Dark lord, who watched as his groomed spy merely shoved Yaxley’s corpse aside with a boot heel and fell silently back into place.

            Through the holes in his silver mask, Voldemort could see that Severus’ eyes were dead. The man had been broken and, when left with no purpose or reason to continue in his life, he came back to a master who would give him purpose again. Voldemort’s reasons, Voldemort’s desires, his will, would become Severus’.

            So Voldemort laughed and proceeded with the meeting as if nothing was wrong, and his followers were forced to take his lead. He had gained back his most useful tool, more valuable now than it had ever been.

            Severus picked up where he had left off, because a good spy was not allowed the luxury of their feelings, and their highest calling was to get to work. Life kept reminding him again and again that his die had been cast, this was his role and his alone to fulfill, and that he would always be punished for refusing his fate.

            And then, another lily came.

 

***

 

            Even though it was reckless, Hermione carefully slipped a white lily between the pages of the new _Ars Alchemica_ and mailed to Spinner’s End. She could not think of a rational reason why she had done it, only that her fingers seemed to be making the decision independently of her mind. Maybe she wanted just one fabulously, stupid thing to do. It could completely ruin all of her hard work and lose the Order the war. Maybe she had done it because despite all of her best efforts to win the war, a witch she had come close to loving like a second mother, had died because of her actions. Maybe nothing that she did would amount to anything, so neither would this.

            Maybe she wanted to keep just one secret from Dumbledore, from Harry, from everyone that was all just her own. Because a spy was never allowed to have anything all to themselves.

            “There’s a secret entranceway here, underneath the statue of the one-eyed witch with a hump. We can get in through the Honeyduke’s cellar in Hogsmeade.” Sirius pointed to a spot on the Maurauder’s map. Fred and George pored over the map, fascinated.

            “Blimey, we could have gotten into a lot of trouble with this,” George said with a wink to his twin brother.

            “There’s still the ‘slight’ matter of how do we find the bloody Chamber of Secrets,” Ron said testily.

            Remus answered for the group, “The slithers have been coming from somewhere underneath this floor, here.” He pointed to a girl’s lavatory on the map. “That looks like the most likely entry point.”

            Ron threw his hands up in the air. “And _then_ there’s the slight matter of _how do we kill a basilisk?_ ”

            “We can always cut off its head. That seems to do the trick for most things.” Luna gazed innocently at him as if they were only debating what to have for lunch. Ron blinked at her aghast and then let out a heavy sigh. “I guess that solves all our problems, then.”

            “We don’t necessarily need to kill it,” Hermione interrupted, her arms crossed against her chest and in a business-like tone, “the essential thing is to procure a fang with venom. We’ll have to move quickly, as we won’t go unnoticed by the school indefinitely.”

            “I will be able to buy you all some time,” Dumbledore said softly, with a note of finality in his voice. Hermione’s gaze snapped to his, she seemed to understand the subtext of what he was saying and she looked like she was about to protest, but then clamped her mouth shut.

            “What do you mean, Albus?” Remus asked.

            “Once you have entered the Chamber, I will go confront Voldemort.”

            “You’re bloody _joking_ -“

            Hermione cut Ron and several others off, holding up her hand for silence. The gesture shocked a few of the adult members around the table, as it was clear this young witch had more authority in the matter than those twice her age. “We need Fred and George on infiltration and then to keep on as sentries and run distraction inside the premises. We then need a strike team of five, which I will be leading to go into the Chamber and get the fangs. I want Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Ron and Luna.”

            Ron was about to protest that they couldn’t bring Luna when Harry spoke up in a quiet, but firm voice. “I’m going.”

            Hermione was about to shut him down when he looked at her, still deadly quiet, and simply repeated himself. “I’m going.”

            They locked gazes for a tense moment, Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she considered him, and then finally she nodded. “Luna, you’re still coming. We’ll just have six instead of five.”

            Hermione then withdrew from the babble of conversation and arguing that started up again at the table over the Maurauder’s map as the assault on Hogwarts school was planned. She came over to Dumbledore’s side and held a whispered conversation with him.

            “You know that if you duel Voldemort you’re not going to walk away from it,” she said, her hand gripping his shoulder.

            His voice was soft, but his mind had been made up. “I will be able to buy you close to an hour. A half-hour for certain. That is the timeframe you are working within, and you must succeed. Beyond that, I cannot guarantee you anything.”

            He finally looked up at her, saw the hard look in her eyes, the knowledgeable gaze that even in that moment was tracking the permanent tremble in his hand. He nodded with a gentle smile. They both knew he had been dying for a long time. He was making his choice not to die in his bed.

            Hermione and Dumbledore watched the members of the Order of the Phoenix, squabbling, scared, but trying, in the chaos of the kitchen. She smirked bitterly, “Are you entrusting them into my care?”

            Dumbledore chuckled, and then said, “No, my dear. A responsibility far greater, I’m afraid. The one you were given the day you decided to embrace your magical inheritance and all its burdens. To win.”

            “Same old story,” Hermione quipped. “He’s still out in the field, you know. Still active. We’d be fools not to think he’ll run counter-operations against ours.”

            Dumbledore nodded, he knew she meant Severus. “He hates us for what happened. It is funny, in a way, how we sometimes direct our anger. The only person he possibly hates more than us is himself. But that will make him formidable and even more dangerous. You know what you must do.”

            She looked at him, sensing what he meant, but wanting to hear verbal confirmation. Dumbledore looked to her and then to Harry, who sat at the dining table but was closed off from all of the commotion around him. Now an orphan, like Hermione.

            “He is a threat. You must end it.”


	20. Chapter 20

            Severus had encoded his shortest message yet in the pages of the potions publication: “H-O-W”. The only answer he received was another lily in his next mail delivery.

            He briefly entertained the thought that she was haunting him beyond the grave, but it was merely a fool’s passing fancy. He also considered that perhaps she wasn’t dead, but that thought was immediately quashed as well. He had long left hope behind. And he was angry.

            Because he could see now how everything had been smoke and mirrors. He had been tricked. Even more insulting, he had been bested at a game he thought he had been a master of.

            There was something else swirling in the back of his mind, a whisper of fingers across his thoughts, which he could not discern. He stood at attention at the revels, bowed his head when the Dark lord issued him instructions, and carried them out with his own brutal efficiency, but he could not shake this waking phantom that began to itch at the walls of his skull when he saw the first lily since the night he decided he was a dead man still walking.

            Out of curiosity, allowing his body to follow whatever impulse he could not pinpoint, he brought out his wand and whispered, “ _Expecto Patronum_ ”, but the silver doe did not appear. A gust of ghostly light spilled out but soon dissipated in the stale air of his potions laboratory.

            He did not know if there was a surer sign that his spirit was gone if he could no longer produce a patronus. And yet, something dormant in him was still breathing, still waiting to come to light.

 

***

 

            It was going to happen tonight. They were going to leave in an hour, actually, and everyone was coping with the tense act of waiting in their own way. Hermione went through all of her checks, taking inventory of her equipment, stocking up her cloak with all the useful things she might need, and running her wand through some basic spells to make sure it was functioning properly.

            She ran out of busywork and there was still time to kill. She paced for ten minutes before realizing it was fruitless, and then went to Dumbledore’s office. He was speaking to some of the Order members, offering them advice or comfort in the minutes winding down, and she was alone.

            Hermione went to the Pensieve and for a while just stared into its depths. She found it calming to see the glowing, gently swirling memories inside. It reminded her a little of the lake in the Forest of Dean.

            _A secret all of my own._

            Hermione tilted her head, puzzling over something quietly to herself, and then shut her eyes and conjured a memory. She pressed the tip of her wand to her temple and drew it out, placing it into the Pensieve. It was a fragment of Snape’s memory, from the first time she had seen into his mind, and a moment she had never let anyone else see.

            Snape in his private laboratory, ladling a smoking potion into a goblet and then walking up a flight of stairs to hand it to an old witch with a hooked nose. His mother?

            Something tickled the back of Hermione’s mind and she watched the scene again. And then again.

            There was a knock at the office door and Luna’s voice called out to her, “Are you in there, Hermione? Mister Dumbledore is getting ready to leave.”

            “Just a minute,” Hermione called back, her attention focused solely on the depths of the Pensieve.

            Snape in his private laboratory. Shelves of ingredients behind him. All carefully labeled in tiny, spidery writing. _Scales_. Hermione leaned in closer, her nose almost touching the surface of the memory. There was a glass jar on the shelf with large, black snake scales.

            Her heart began to beat faster. Hermione looked over and saw a wooden box beside the jar. It had the label: “ _B. Fangs_ ”.

            Hermione ran out of the office and skidded into the entranceway where the Order was gathered around Dumbledore and he had a comforting hand on Molly’s arm. When they saw her, the other members dispersed to give her a private moment with him.

            “ _Albus_ , there may be-“

            He took her hands in his, a warm smile on his face despite the resignation around his eyes. “Hermione, you have made me so very proud.”

            Her heart stopped painfully, as these were the words of a final goodbye. Her words were caught in her throat, she suddenly did not know what to say face to face with him. “Albus, there is another way…”

            “Other than me leaving now?” She did not know how to respond, and he asked, “Or will this help you?”

            It would. She did not need to say it, he already knew and he squeezed her hands before letting go. “I trust you to do the right thing. On all fronts. Now, I am off for my next adventure. It does not do to keep Death waiting.”

            He tapped the side of his crooked nose with a twinkle in his eye and then vanished out of the air with a _pop!_

 

***

 

            “Harry.” Hermione pulled Harry to the side, noting briefly the flash of resentment on his face. He couldn’t help it, she knew, and after his momentary reaction he was back to business, paying attention to her. “I need you to lead the strike team.”

            He frowned in confusion. “You aren’t coming?”

            “No, I have a lead I need to follow. So the plan has changed and I have little time to explain.” Hermione pulled out the Maurauder’s map and gave it to him. “I’m going to get the fangs from another source. I still need you to break into the school, but instead, target the Headmistress’ office.”

            Harry’s eyebrows rose. “And do what?”

            “Come on, guys, our portkey activates in a few minutes!”

            Hermione glanced over at the group assembled and then placed a finger over her lips. She scribbled a note on the map where Headmistress Umbridge’s office was and Harry’s eyes widened. He gave her a look that seemed to ask if she was joking, but she had no time to jest. Quickly, she whispered him her last set of instructions.

            “If you run into Snape, try not to engage him. But, if it happens, make eye contact with him. Do not let him break your gaze. Just open your eyes as wide as you can and keep looking right into his.” She saw the further confused look on Harry’s face and in a deadly serious tone she said, “It could save your life.”

            If any of the last minute changes were overwhelming, Harry did a good job of hiding it. He tucked the map away and said, “All right.”

            Hermione tied her cloak around her neck and ran out the door, leaving the shouted queries of where she was going behind her.

 

***

 

            If someone’s home was a reflection of who they were, then Hermione could only surmise from Spinner’s End that Severus Snape had never had much of a life. She was spooked and on high alert as she slipped in, testing the wards and half-surprised to find it empty. She was cautious and even though she needed to rush, she spent a significant amount of time to make absolutely certain that she hadn’t set off any magical alarms or would trigger any booby-traps.

            She hurried down into the basement and found Snape’s laboratory, just like in his memory, though with more signs of neglect and disuse. Hermione almost ran for the ingredient shelves and found the wooden box. Holding in a breath, she opened it and looked at what it contained with a muted excitement and wonder. Three curved, yellow fangs, one almost as large as the length of her hand.

            They were old and discoloured, and Hermione could not tell if any venom was still inside. She thought there must be a safer way to test her theory, but she didn’t have the time. She brought out Tom Riddle’s diary from her cloak and laid it on a table, raising the fang above it ready to strike down.

            The diary pages started to flip open on their own, moving faster until dark smoke started to unfurl from the blank pages. Hermione watched in horror as the inky silhouette of a teenage boy rose out of the diary.

            “I see you, Hermione Granger,” the Tom Riddle apparition said. “I can see your fears, your hopes, your desires.”

            “Bloody, Merlin…” she breathed.

            He smirked at her, his handsome face calm and polite, though with an undercurrent of menace. “Do you know that Death touches everything you do? Everyone you love, everyone who is merely in your vicinity, dies. Horribly. And I can see right into your soul. So I know that deep down, you actually like this.”

            Hermione stared at him, mortified, the fang still in her raised hand. She felt completely paralyzed, under a hypnotic trance.

            Tom Riddle continued, “Maybe you don’t understand it, but it’s the power. You love power. Everyone does, though only some are brave enough to admit it. Albus Dumbledore loved power, and he had so much of it over you.”

            “Why are you speaking about him in the past tense?” She asked, nervous.

            He shrugged, a light smile still playing around his face, though his eyes were beginning to shine red. “Because miles away, I am killing him, of course. Does that sadden you? I don’t think it actually does. In fact, I think you’ve hated him all these years. And why shouldn’t you? What did Albus Dumbledore’s love do for you?”

            “Nothing…” she whispered, hate curling around her heart. The arm with the fang began to lower.

            A triumphant look crossed Tom Riddle’s face. “You may be a mudblood, but did you know my father was a muggle? Some of us have to overcome our pitiful inheritances and make one of our own. That’s what I did, and I have power beyond your imagining. I can show you. I can teach you. I can make you better.”

            He laughed, the sound morphing into something higher and crueler than looked natural coming out of the handsome young man. “You’re clever, you know if you keep following a dead man’s orders that you’ll just end up like Lily. Like James. Like Snape.”

            Hermione’s arm suddenly came swinging down and the fang pierced the cover of the diary. Tom Riddle’s ghost suddenly doubled over, and he looked down at a hole that appeared in his torso in shock. Hermione struck again, stabbing the diary multiple times and watched as ink began to spurt out of the pages like dark blood.

            The soul fragment howled in pain, clawed hands reaching for her, but fading as ink continued to bleed out of the diary. Hermione struck one last time and the fang ripped a hole clean through the book from cover to cover. Tom Riddle let out one final, horrible scream and then burst into a billow of black smoke.

            Hermione stood there for a moment, her chest heaving up and down, and then she staggered back and leaned heavily against the ingredients shelf. The diary was still smoking and she was covered in ink spray.

            She took a moment to regain her composure and then pushed the ruined diary to the floor. She had confirmed now that the fang still possessed some of its venom, and she had two more horcruxes to go.

 

***

 

            “Hurry up, Fred!” Ron looked nervously out the door to the Headmistress’ office.

            “One…more…sec,” Fred’s tongue poked out of the side of his mouth as he was deep in concentration, manipulating a slim lockpick and trying to tease the display cabinet door open. George was working on a similar lock on the opposite end of the case and said, “Who would’ve thought these muggle things would have come in useful?”

            Fred smirked. “More shocked they used muggle locks on something as shiny as this.”

            “ _Stupefy!_ ” The spell fired out of nowhere and hit Ron in the chest. He fell over and slumped down to the floor, unconscious.

            “Ron!” Harry ran to his side, his wand drawn. Fred and George were startled, but then buckled down harder to open up the case. The locks finally clicked open in unison and they grabbed the precious object inside.

            “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Harry’s wand was tugged from his grip and soared through the air to clatter at Snape’s feet. Harry turned to look at the twins, saw that they had secured the prize, and yelled at them. “Go!”

            They looked at each other torn, but Snape was advancing quickly towards them. Fred broke into a run and had to grab George’s robes and pull him along, as George fired off a curse in Snape’s direction with a yelled, “That’s for my bloody ear!”

            Snape ignored them completely, swiftly advancing on Harry and then grasping him by the front of his shirt. “James Potter’s son,” he said in a silky hiss.

            Harry wasn’t short, but Snape drew him up so high that he was choking and on tip-toe. He struggled, but Snape’s wand was pointed so close to him it was almost tickling his eyeball. Part of him wished he hadn’t been brave and distracted Snape for the twins, he could have really used some back up.

            “Where is the muggleborn?” Snape demanded, and surprised Harry. The mention of Hermione suddenly reminded him of her parting words of advice, and even though it felt stupid in the moment, he had no other course of action to take so he opened his eyes wide and locked gazes with Snape.

            “Where is she? Is she somewhere in the castle?” Snape drew Harry closer to him until they were eye-to-eye, and then something flickered across his face. The seething hatred was still on Snape’s face, but there was something else conflicting with it. Harry kept staring back, unsure of what was happening, but praying that it was still working.

            Suddenly, Snape let him go and he collapsed to the floor. Harry scrambled for his wand, but Snape was already running down the hallway, chasing some clue he had seen on Harry’s face.


	21. Chapter 21

            Hermione was doubled over on one of the worktables in the laboratory, weak and in need of rest, the broken and smoking locket and diadem by her feet, when he came in like a thunderclap.

            She did not look afraid or even surprised as he materialized in the space, his black robes swirling around him, and she made no sound when he grabbed her and threw her against the shelves. Unbreakable glass vials fell to the ground, making clinking noises like a discordant melody.

            She winced and rubbed the back of her head. “If you’re here to kill me than can you just finish it without tossing me around?”

            He regarded her coldly for a moment, not amused by her cheek, and then threw something onto the worktable. Hermione picked up the bent and cracked pair of half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore’s, and was silent. Her composure did not break and she betrayed no feelings on her face, but the moment she took to regard them told Severus enough.

            “He suffered,” Snape said, “as I’m sure you surmised, Miss Granger. And I am not here to kill you. Not yet at least.”

            Severus drew a small potion vial from inside his sleeve. The liquid inside was completely clear and Hermione raised an eyebrow at it. Severus pointed his wand at her warningly and handed her the vial. “ _Drink it_.”

            “Veritaserum seems a little heavy-handed for you, Severus,” Hermione said, though she uncorked the vial without complaint. Severus winced inwardly when she said his name, confused by the familiarity. She raised the vial to her lips and paused. “It would be more interesting if you drank some too.”

            He dug his wand into the side of her face and with a smirk she tipped its contents down her throat. She had no other choice, really.

            Severus loomed over her and locked eyes with her, his black tunnels blazing with fury but also a need to know. He demanded, “How long was Lily Evans your mentor?”

            She had an infuriatingly smug look on her face and answered simply, “Never.”

            Severus tried again. “How long was Lily _Potter_ your mentor?”

            “Never.”

            That caught him off guard a little, but he pressed on. “What was Lily Potter to you?”

            “A colleague.” Even under the influence of Veritaserum, she was going to use everything in her power to give him oblique answers that were still technically true. Severus felt frustration, but a small familiar thrill as well at the challenge. “Who was your mentor?”

            “Albus Dumbledore.”

            Severus quirked a curious eyebrow at that. “And what were you to him?”

            Hermione’s brow furrowed a little, as she had to force out, “A sp-agent. An agent.” Though she had resisted a little, Severus knew she meant ‘spy’ and that intrigued him.

            “How involved were you in Lily’s operations?”

            Hermione shrugged. “As much as any other Order member. Little.”

            Severus frowned. “What missions were you involved in the past few years?” Hermione then began to list countless operations, almost all of them had run counter to the work he had done like a parallel timeline. She rolled her eyes, playing bored, as she took in a deep breath and was about to launch into the next rendition when he cut her off.

            “Which were Lily involved in?”

            Hermione then repeated three. Only three. Severus reeled inwardly, his mental calculations already telling him the truth, but he could not accept it. “Was Lily a spy, like you?”

            “No.”

            Severus stared at her, not knowing what to do or say. He wanted very much to sit down, the weight of everything crushing his chest. She still had that smug smirk playing around her lips and he must have betrayed some of the shock he was feeling as she said, “You aren’t asking the right questions. Tick tock. The amount of Veritaserum you gave me, considering my height and size, will metabolize eventually and you’ll waste this opportunity-“

            “Remember I can curse you into oblivion, you arrogant little know-it-all!” He snarled, twisting his wand into her cheek to drive home his point. She held up her hands in mock-surrender, but he had to admit she had a point.

            So he asked her the question, which scared him the most. “Did those messages...the flowers…did they come from Lily?”

            “No.”

            “Did _any_ of them?”

            “No.”

            His voice came out in a hushed, silken whisper. “Who wrote them?”

            She looked back at him, not smirking now, but with a hint of vindication. “I did. Every one.”

            Severus finally did take a step back and it was like he was seeing the witch in front of him for the first time again. All these years he had thought she was just another one of Albus’ strays, a scared young witch thrust into the role of a soldier too soon. Young, maybe hopeful, but doomed to be just another casualty.

            The thrill, the hunt, and the intricate and subtle dance he had played with another just like him. The challenge and competition that had kept him excited for something in his miserable life, the battle of the minds, the shadow steps to try and outdo the other, his rival, his _equal_ …was this young witch. Not the one he had grown up with. Not the one who had known him so well.

            “How?”

            Though his question was obscure, she understood what he was asking. “I am very good at Legilimency.”

            He had already discovered that he had been tricked, but the degree as to how he had been manipulated was staggering now that he understood that the Lily he had been playing this chess match with was a phantom. It suddenly began to hit him, like striking blows, how he had forged this truce, this intimate connection really, with a woman who could not have been his boyhood love.

            And suddenly, he knew so much about Hermione Granger.

            She was brilliant, oh to an undeniable degree, but she had to have absolute control over everything. She was positively textbook, and though the power she wielded with her knowledge was devastating, she did not have the intuitive ability to improvise off-book. She was just as starved for real mental stimulation as he was, constantly having to prove she was the best, unable to back down from a challenge. She was loyal, yes, and committed to her cause, but she had a rebellious and reckless streak within her as well that came from youth or perhaps resistance to her conditioning and she was arrogant enough to believe she would always come out on top.

            “You’re lonely,” he said softly.

            She looked taken aback, and then offended. “Is that a question?”

            He laughed then, a bizarre sight given the situation, and she had a stunned and conflicted look on her face. Severus looked at her, a bitter smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You’re good. Very good, in fact. But you’re still young at this.”

            “Good enough to have fooled a seasoned veteran like you,” she sneered, hurt at being laughed at.

            “You are young enough to still think that the fact that you are clever, and good at what you do, means a damn thing in the end,” Severus said. “Let me ask you this, if we could use the analogy of a chessboard to describe this war, what piece do you think you are?”

            Her cheeks reddened slightly, she was embarrassed to have to toot her own horn, but the potion compelled her to answer truthfully. “A bishop.”

            “You’re a _pawn_ and you will never be anything but. As am I,” he added. “We are competent, we are probably the smartest people involved in this damn mess, and we do what no one else can. But that doesn’t make us any less expendable or insignificant.”

            “Thank you for the teaching moment, Snape,” she spat out, a mutinous look on her face.

            “Do you miss your parents?” He asked, his questions coming rapid-fire like cruel bullets meant to shred her spirit. “Has it haunted you all this time? Have you wanted revenge on me all these years? Or were you smart enough to realize the person you should have hated was Albus Dumbledore all along?”

            The colour drained from her face and she trembled with the effort of fighting the potion. Finally, in a small voice she said, “Yes…to all.”

            “Do you hate your late mentor?”

            She said with great effort, “Yes.”

            Severus snorted derisively. He understood the sentiment. She looked ashamed, but still defiant, and his curiosity in learning more of who she truly was grew. “Why will you not use the Killing curse?”

            He saw the questioning look in her eyes and murmured, “Yes, I know.”

            “Because I can’t. Because it’s inhuman. Because I cannot be someone who murders another person in that fashion.”

            He raised a judgmental eyebrow, a little surprised by her vehement response. “That is quite the Achilles heel to possess.” She had a resentful look that he noticed wasn’t entirely aimed at him. “Was that something Dumbledore taught you?”

            “No.” Her response was bitter. This piqued his interest more.

            “Did he instruct you to use it? Did you defy his orders?”

            She looked tired and resigned when she said, “Yes.”

            So, despite all of the other unsavoury things she had to do, the difficult choices she had to make, she had clung onto this one aspect of her independence from her master. He was reluctantly impressed, but also thought it was a shame that she had picked that particular cross to bear. “Then maybe there is hope yet for you after all.”

            “What do you care of my hope?” Her voice was hard and small, like a jagged piece of glass. Severus did not respond, though he realized it was a good question. And he did not know the answer.

            She had her eyes closed tightly in concentration, though signs of fatigue showed on her face. Severus finally looked down and noticed the destroyed artifacts around her. She really was brilliant, he was still floored at how much this little slip of a girl had accomplished, so he thought it a pity that he had to end this.

            “What did they steal from Hogwarts school?”

            She opened her eyes and regarded him coolly. “Godric Gryffindor’s sword.”

            Whatever answer he had expected to hear, it was not that. “Why?”

            “Distract Voldemort.”

            Severus looked back down at the blackened horcruxes around them. He had guessed long ago what the Dark lord had asked him to safeguard, this was merely confirmation. So, Albus had confronted the Dark lord in a suicidal bid to buy them time, and Hermione had layered her redundancy a step further to distract them on all fronts while she destroyed pieces of the Dark lord’s soul.

            “You will fail and you will all die,” he simply stated. She did not protest, she looked as if she had already been living with that conclusion for years.

            “Did you see Harry’s eyes?” she suddenly asked and his eyes snapped up to hers. She smirked a little when she saw she had hit a sore nerve. “He has his mother’s eyes.”

            “Yes…he does,” Severus agreed cautiously.

            “You were wrong, you know,” Hermione said casually, her eyes drifting off as if she were recalling something. “Despite what you may believe, and I can see why, Lily did love you in a way. The loss of your friendship was still something she thought about, and regretted it, even so many years after the fact.”

            Severus knuckles grew white as he held his wand in a vice grip. She was a cornered animal, he tried to reason with himself, of course she will say and do anything to try and survive. The same tactics he had seen on the swings of the playground that night.

            That night he had said goodbye to Lily Evans…

            She looked into his eyes and it was eerie how she seemed to be able to read what he was thinking. “Did you replay that kiss over and over in your mind?”

            His hand was suddenly at her throat, striking out like a viper, and he snarled inches away from her face, “Do not test me, Hermione Granger… Do not forget I am a murderer, and I hold your life in my hands.”

            She was unafraid and closed the distance between them, a deadly and defiant look gleaming in her eyes. She whispered, “Do you realize now that it was me?”

            She was so close to him that in the dimly lit potions laboratory with shadows on their faces, he was forcibly reminded of that night when he had looked into Lily’s eyes and seen the dark, almost black eyes staring back at him that had actually belonged to Hermione Granger. Her eyes were brown. How could he not have seen what was right in front of him?

            Even though his hand was around her throat and his wand still pressed against her face, Hermione grasped the back of his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. He knew, _he knew_ , this was a weapon, this was a battle tactic, this was the poisoned blade a spy carried around in her boot…but even though she did not have red hair, she did not have the face of the witch he had yearned for, she moved her lips, she pressed into him, she made a small noise in the back of her throat like the woman he had kissed that night.

            He felt a sharp point dig into the side of his neck as she broke away from him, and he was already yelling at himself inside his head as she smirked at him. “Again, Severus?”

            He cautiously glanced to his neck where she had, of all bloody things, a basilisk fang against his artery. Checkmate.

            Furiously, he looked back at her to see her muttering under her breath. “What on earth are you doing?”

            “Counting.”

            “For what?” He spat, and he saw the smug grin return on her face. Bloody little know-it-all.

            “For the Veritaserum to take its effect on you.” He noticed then her lips were glistening and despite himself he was tempted to give her a round of applause. She fought dirty.

            She removed the hand wrapped around her throat and applied a little more pressure with the fang to remind him if she broke his skin he was going to die an incredibly painful death. Then, she looked directly into his eyes and asked, “Is Albus Dumbledore truly dead?”

            He cautiously tested his answer. “N-N-yes.”

            Her eyelids shuttered momentarily. “How do you know?”

            “I witnessed it.”

            She took a second to process the information, filing away her feelings to be dealt with later. Severus recognized that look as he had done it many times himself. She then focused her attention on him again. “Where is Voldemort right now?”

            “If I’m not mistaken…” Severus sighed inwardly a little. It was galling to be at the mercy of not just a rival, but the power of his own potions brewing. “…he has taken all of his Death Eaters to Hogwarts to make a display of Dumbledore’s body to the students.”

            “That’s disgusting,” she remarked, and carefully searched behind her for her wand, not breaking eye contact with him. She found it and readied it in her free hand, now able to disapparate.

            She still had a question lingering on her lips, however, and her curiosity finally got the best of her. “Are you going to kill me?”

            “If I have to.”

            His answer seemed to confuse her, and angrily she asked, “Do you _want_ to kill me?”

            Severus knew he had no choice but to be honest. “No.”

            She looked even more confused, and then angrier for being caught off-guard, for not being able to predict his response correctly. She demanded, “ _Why?_ ”

            He slowly placed his fingers over the curve of the fang. She resisted, she would not let him push it away, but she still stared at him rapt with attention. Desperate to know what truth was going to fall from his lips.

            “Because I am lonely. Because I know you. Because we are the only two who understand what this is truly like, and because I am tired of the solitude of my vigil. You are interesting. You have also caused me to suffer, but I do not hate you. I would kill you if I had to, but I would be disappointed to be alone again. Because you know.”

            “I know what, exactly?” she hissed, though her anger was half-hearted, hitting closer to a tone of desperation and hunger. Hunger to connect, to be understood, to not be alone.

            “What it is like to have been molded only to suit one purpose. To be the tools of greater men. To be allowed nothing except your purpose. Your duty.”

            She did not want to understand what he was saying, but he could see that she knew it all too well. He remembered that she was still under the influence of the truth serum as well and took advantage of her momentary silence. “Are you here to kill me?”

            “Yes.” She raised her wand to his face, the fang still pressed into his neck.

            “Are you going to?”

            They stood for a moment where time stopped, locked in each other’s gazes, torn between their duty to a higher calling and the deep, surprising understanding they had reached. Finally, even if she had not been under the influence of a truth potion, Hermione answered him honestly.

            “No.”

            A second later and she shoved him back, spinning on the spot and disapparating away. Severus’ hand clutched at the empty space, his fingers grasping nothing but air. He disapparated a moment later with another _crack!_

            The chase was on again.


	22. Chapter 22

 

            Hermione reappeared in the midst of a battlefield and the chaos almost petrified her to the spot.

            Though they had been involved in a war since she was thirteen years old, and though she had played an enormous part in the Order’s efforts, she was a virgin to true bloodshed, duels to the death and the anarchy of a real engagement. The thought briefly entered her mind that the Order must have decided just to attack when the news of Dumbledore’s death and his body’s humiliation at the school reached them. Then a barrage of curse lights shot her way and she had to let her body take over in order to evade them and wade through the fight.

            Where was Voldemort? How did people even know what was going on or who to fight? Hermione dodged another curse, had to parry a spell that ricocheted her way from another duel, and turned a corner just to see Sirius fall to the ground, hit by multiple spells in the chest. She heard the cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange and her shrieked taunts in the air before Remus flew out of the air and tackled her to the ground.

            _Sirius…he’s dead._

            But there was no time to process that as Augustus Rookwood caught sight of her and cried, “ _Avada Kedavra,_ mudblood!” She cast a shield charm in time and darted away. She had no time for this, she had a job to do, she had to find the snake, she had to destroy the last horcrux…

            They had to win, she could not fail, they had to win, _she could not fail_.

            She saw a bright gleam throughout the chaos and yelled, “HARRY!” He was covered in burn marks and was bleeding from a cut on his shoulder. The sword of Gryffindor was strapped to his back and he was dueling Voldemort himself.

            Bellatrix Lestrange saw her through the chaos and laughing, she shrieked, “Say goodnight, mudblood!”

            There was a swirl of black fabric and suddenly Snape appeared in the crowd. Bellatrix had her wand raised and was in the middle of performing the Killing curse, when Snape grabbed her arm and shoved her to the side. He snarled in the cackling witch’s face, “Leave her to _me_.”

            He stalked towards Hermione on the battlefield, his wand raised in her direction. Hermione raised her wand as well, settling into her dueling pose and ready to fight for her life, when she saw something dark slither through the battle.

            “Harry! The snake!”

            Harry turned to see Nagini, the great and terrible beast, coil up into a striking pose and then lunge towards him. Time seemed to slow down as Hermione watched the snake’s powerful muscles tense and then moonlight glint off of its smooth scales as it reared towards Harry’s head. Somewhere, in the chaos, she felt Snape’s arm grip onto her shoulder and his presence at her side.

            She didn’t care, she was unable to tear her eyes away as Nagini’s fangs scraped along Harry’s face and then the snake’s jaws snap again as it went for another strike. Harry reached an arm behind him and with a ragged cry he swung it to his side…

            …and the snake’s head fell and rolled to the ground. Its body twisted and coiled, shuddering in its death throes. Harry stood over it, the sword dripping with blood, angry open wounds on his forehead and a stunned look on his face.

            There was an inhuman shriek as Voldemort saw his familiar die and his face contorted with rage as he seemed to almost glide towards Harry, his wand raised above his head.

            Hermione then felt her body shake and she looked beside her to see Severus bellowing in her face. “ _Do it!_ ”

            Hermione raced forward as time finally seemed to catch up with her churning limbs and she threw herself in front of Harry. Voldemort looked incensed and hissed at her, “Stand aside, stupid girl-“

            Hermione raised her wand and realized her arm was trembling. Severus was still yelling at her, “ _Do it! Hermione, now!_ ” in the background roar.

            She was a tool. She had only her purpose. She was not allowed her own feelings. Her own convictions. Her own morals. She had a job to do.

            She felt her heart seize with hatred, with every poisonous feeling that had plagued her since the night her life had changed all those years ago. She looked at Voldemort’s pale, hideous face and other faces flashed in her mind: Albus Dumbledore’s, Snape’s, her own.

            “ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

            A green jet of light burst from the tip of her wand and soared through Voldemort. He had a smug look on his face, then one of confusion as the curse ripped through his now mortal body. He began to fall backwards, slowly.

            Everything grew quiet. It was as if everyone in the battle watched in unison as Voldemort fell and crumpled to the ground. The most powerful wizard that had ruled England with an iron fist had just become another corpse on the battlefield. There was silence as confusion, panic and incomprehension gripped everyone present.

            Then something broke. All hell broke loose around Hermione. Some Death Eaters lunged forward to try and kill her. Some fled. The Order members were screaming, unable to even form coherent words, just letting loose a primal cry of victory, of pain, of the ecstatic joy that this was _finally over_.

            And only one person there knew why Hermione sunk to her knees, her wand abandoned somewhere in the grass, weeping uncontrollably.

            She barely heard anything around her, locked in her own private hell until his voice finally began to penetrate the roaring in her ears. “Hermione…Hermione, let’s go. It’s done.”

            She looked up into his face, shattered, for the first time without any sense of direction or what to do next.

            He held out his hand to her. “Our masters are dead. We’re free.”

            She slowly nodded and then took his hand.

 

TWELVE YEARS LATER

***

 

            “Harry! Harry!”

            Harry looked up in alarm to see Ginny, his wife, run into the living room at her wits end. He put aside his copy of _The Quibbler_ and got up just as she threw herself into his arms. “Gin, what is it?”

            “Lily’s missing. I’ve searched for her everywhere. She’s gone.”

            Harry raced through the Burrow, calling out his daughter’s name, and then ran outside. Soon Ron and the twins showed up and they searched the grounds everywhere for the little seven-year-old girl, but even after combing through all of Ottery St. Catchpole, they could not find her.

            So much had changed since the war ended and Hermione Granger killed Voldemort. Harry had a few jagged scars that ran down the left side of his forehead which never disappeared completely, due to the nature of Nagini’s venom. Remus and Tonks had both been slain on the battlefield. Molly Weasley had killed Bellatrix Letrange. Many of the Death Eaters fled the country and there was turmoil for years as the Ministry of Magic was upended. Kingsley Shacklebolt finally ended up taking over as Minister when Cornelius Fudge resigned.

            The years had been difficult, but there was a sense of hope that had not been felt in a very long time. The moment it had finally felt like everything was going to be all right for Harry is when Hogwarts reopened, and every Order of the Phoenix member who had lost their lives were buried in a memorial on the school grounds. James had already begun his first year there, and Harry had been just as entranced as his son when they toured the school. It would have been wonderful to have had a normal childhood and gotten up to adventures in that magical castle.

            The world was not perfect. There were still pureblood enthusiasts that tried to push their agenda through the Ministry. It still tore at Harry’s heart when he visited the memorial every year and saw the names of his friends who hadn’t made it: Remus, _Sirius_ , his mother, his father, Tonks and her pink hair, even Hermione Granger whose body they never found…

            But the world was _healing_ and he had managed to let go of his traumas, his scars, and allow himself to enjoy the peaceful life of being a husband, a father and having a family of his own again. Something as awful and as evil as one of his children being in danger _was not supposed to happen_.

            He sat at the dining room table all night, sick with grief and worry, and the helplessness that came with knowing he could not do anything.

            When the clock struck midnight he heard the gate outside open. He realized he had fallen asleep and saw that Ginny had similarly dozed off beside him. He then heard the front door creak open and shook her. “Ginny.”

            “Mum? Dad?”

            They leapt to their feet and rushed over to see Lily, with a little dirt on her face and scratches on her arms, but otherwise whole and sound run over to them and hug their legs. Ginny cried out in relief and hugged their daughter tightly to her.

            “Oh my goodness, Lily are you all right? Where were you? What happened?” Harry stroked back his daughter’s hair, unable to stop looking at her in case she vanished again.

            “I was following a gnome in the forest and I fell down a hole. I couldn’t get out. I was so scared. But, they found me.”

            Harry kissed her on the forehead, so happy to hear she was all right. Then he frowned and asked, “Who found you?”

            Lily pointed out the open front door to the gate of their property. Harry squinted and saw two figures, cloaked in shadow, watching by the gate and illuminated only by the moon in the night sky.

            The tall man with the long black hair obscuring most of his face turned on his heel and began to sweep away, looking like a shadow that was returning to the darkness. The woman watched a moment longer, her face at once familiar but changed by the years, and then she followed after the man, her brown bushy hair waving behind her.

            They fell in step with each other and then, as if they had never been there, disappeared into the night.

 

***

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to an end. Thank you for reading along, I hope you enjoyed.


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